


Supernatural: After The End

by notmanos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Damn Those Books, Dean as Death, Four Horsemen, Not For Emetophobes, Revenge, Worst Store Ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmanos/pseuds/notmanos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Supernatural: The End. Hell is not happy with the new status quo, and the remaining Four Horsemen are especially pissed. They come up with a desperate plan to replace Dean, but does it have any chance of working? And what happens to Dean if it does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carrion Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> The End was the end, but damn it, I had to write one story with Dean as Death. So here it is.

 

**_1 – Carrion Flowers_ **

 

 

“We have to kill Death, and we have to do it now,” War said, slamming his fist on the table.

 

Crowley rolled his eyes, and wondered when the final three of the Four Horsemen would ever get the stupid out of their system. Maybe never.

 

They were meeting in Hell, in a room so cloaked with angel repelling sigils that anything with even a single kind thought in its heart wouldn’t be able to find them. While the Horseman had all been angels once, most of them had sided with Hell long ago. Except Death, which was one of the main reasons why the apocalypse never happened. When you didn’t have Death on your side, you were pretty well fucked.

 

Which was why Crowley was in this room at all. He had some seriously deep reservations about all of this, but Heaven having Death on its side once again was super bad for Hell. Crowley figured Dean would eventually go his own way, but that might take a while, especially with Hannah running the joint, and Cas now Heaven’s Assassin in Chief. Crowley doubted Dean would go anywhere without puppy dog Cas following him.

 

In retrospect, it made sense that Heaven would tap Dean as the next Death. Heaven always did have a kind of hard on for him, and if they wanted to crack down on demons, this would be the perfect way to do it. They could shrug helplessly and just say Dean was a loose cannon, which was true, but a loose cannon pointed with great deliberation towards them. Heaven had its reasons, all right, and they weren’t any good.

 

Demons had been losing a lot of ground since the détente with Heaven ended. There was a general refusal to let the fact that Death was a Hunter – and firmly in the Angel camp – bother them at first, and some demons had a lot of fun on Earth. And then disappeared without a trace.

 

Slowly but surely, panic started filter down the line. Dean was going off the reservation quite a bit, and Heaven seemed in no particular hurry to rein in their attack dog. Sometimes Cas joined in too, doubling the carnage. Crowley especially didn’t like Dean striding into Hell like he owned the place and threatening him to get his demons in line or else. The nerve of that wanker!

 

The worst part? Dean could back up his threat now. Even if he wasn’t Death, he had an Archangel on his side. Check and mate. They were both tactical nukes. Maybe you could prepare for one, but both attacking at the same time? That was a scorched earth policy. Nothing would be left standing. There wouldn’t even be ashes.

 

Hence the pow-wow with the remaining Horsemen. They were pissed off that the shaved ape who killed their brother, Death, had now taken his place, and there was a special extra level of contempt since this was also the shaved ape who lopped their fingers off and took their rings. The Horsemen were yearning for a fight with Death, they just wanted to jump him in an alley and beat him with a pillowcase full of soda cans, but there was a huge problem.

 

Death was stronger than all of them.

 

It wasn’t that the other Horseman were weak, because they weren’t. They could cut vast swaths of devastation. On Earth. Against other supernatural beings … there was a bit of a drop off. Famine could drive more than a few crazy, and War could turn them on each other if he was pumped up, but Pestilence was all but useless. He was also gross. He was getting snot everywhere.

 

“Give me two minutes alone with him,” Famine wheezed, in his ghastly, rusty voice. “I’ll make him eat his own arm.”

 

“And how does that help us?” War replied. “Death doesn’t need arms to kill anybody.”

 

“Boys,” Crowley said, trying to regain control of the room. “I am as unhappy with this development as you are. But do I really need to point out we will only have one shot at this? This has to be handled with great care. It’s not only Death we have to worry about, it’s an Archangel, and that’s just the beginning. Heaven just replaced Death. We have to have a replacement ready to go, or Heaven’s just going to put in another ringer. This may be impossible.”

 

“Only if you’re a quitter,” Pestilence said, dripping even more snot on the table.

 

Crowley really wanted to banish him from Hell, just bar him from ever coming back and fouling his towels ever again, but you didn’t want to make an enemy of Horseman, even one as annoying as Pestilence. “So what ideas do we have about replacing Death, if we can somehow kill Dean?”

 

For the first time in five minutes, there was silence. It was a tough nut to crack. Finally, Famine said, “A higher angel could step in.”

 

War scoffed. “Which takes us back to square one.”

 

“Not if he defects to our side.”

 

Crowley sat forward, finally interested. “Is there one itching to jump?” He wouldn’t actually be surprised. It wasn’t only Hell that was unhappy with a Human – especially that one particular Human – being Ascended. And Castiel, which was its own bag of worms. He had a very checkered past with Heaven, and was known mostly as the one who rebelled. Unlike Lucifer, though, he didn’t get caged.

 

“I believe so.”

 

“Confirm it. He’ll have to jump before he smites him, or it’s Heaven’s ball again,” Crowley said. “And then we have to figure out how he can smite him.” Maybe an Archangel could kill Death, but as far as Crowley knew, there were no Archangels lining up for the Hell express elevator.

 

“There’s a way,” War said. “I know it.”

 

“Okay. So what do we do about Castiel?” Crowley said. “He has to be out of play before this goes down.”

 

More silence. If he was just a grunt angel, fine, but Arch was the major league level. Hard to neutralize, even for Horsemen. Pestilence was now grinding his teeth, as Dean hadn’t cut off his finger, Cas had. He was still taking that personally, even though they grew them back. It wasn’t like they even needed them.

 

“We distract him,” War suggested. “Keep him busy with something else.”

 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “How do you keep an Archangel busy for more than five seconds? That’s the problem.”

 

“Angel trap,” Pestilence said, snorting. “What’s the big deal?”

 

War scowled at his disgusting brother. “To hold an Archangel? That’s a lot of mojo.”

 

Crowley considered it. “I might be able to help. But here’s the bottom line. I’m not doing a damn thing until we get plans firmed up. And even then? I don’t want my fingerprints on any of this. If this goes South, I don’t intend to take Heaven’s wrath on your behalf. Are we clear?”

 

Pestilence snorted. “Kings of Hell used to have balls.”

 

“It’s a new economy, sunshine. Job security is a good thing.”

 

“Why don’t we just grab Death’s brother?” Famine asked.

 

Crowley grimaced. “Do you want to know the fastest way to get dead in this scenario? It’s to go after Sam Winchester. Dean will have your balls on a plate so fast you won’t even realize it until you’re chowing down on them.”

 

War sneered. “It almost sounds like you admire him.”

 

Crowley shrugged. “He was a good choice for Death. The man can kill shit.”

 

Which was also exactly what worried him. This had to be handled very delicately, and even so, Crowley had kind of a bad feeling about this.

 

But when three of Four Horsemen asked for your help, how could you say no?

 

**

 

Claire figured she’d made a mistake on her second day on Portland.

 

She thought Oregon was so very far away from all the angels and demons bullshit, and it was the hip place to be, right? But she had never felt more out of place in her life. She didn’t like pot or handicrafts that much, and if she saw another white person with dreads she was going to start punching them. And why were there so many weird shops? If you wanted a fancy donut or a fetish strip club, you were in luck, but if you just wanted to buy some regular groceries, you could be out of luck, depending on where you were.

 

She was also running out of money. She was thinking of heading up to Seattle or down to Los Angeles, but she heard both of those places were even more expensive. Besides, you’d think there’d be a lot of demons down in L.A., just because.

 

She was trudging back to the place she was crashing at when she heard what sounded like an impromptu concert on the neighboring street. Lots of noise, people screaming and shouting, although the music was kind of hard to hear. Once she arrived on the corner, she saw why.

 

It wasn’t a concert. It was a riot.

 

People were beating each other in the middle of the street, on top of cars, inside cars. People were throwing each other through windows and ramming their heads into light posts. Some of them were yelling something about demons, and when she looked … yes. Everyone on this street was a demon. All their eyes were black.

 

A cold shock went through her, and she reached for the secret pocket in her coat. She could still recall Castiel giving her the silver angel blade, and saying, with all seriousness (was he ever not serious?) “Never use this.” But he gave it to her anyway, for protection, on the off chance she came across this bullshit again. She still wasn’t sure what she thought of him, the angelic monster still wearing her dad’s face. The man he killed. She still kind of missed her dorky, sappy dad.

 

Her fingers brushed the angel blade when it suddenly occurred to her that this didn’t make sense. Why were demons screaming “Demons!” and attacking each other? Now, she didn’t know a lot about this crap, but she didn’t think this was something they did. Maybe that whole Darkness thing caused them to go crazy, but did that make any more sense?

 

She stepped back, ready to flee if any of them noticed her, and reached for her phone instead. Amongst the numbers she had saved was one she had labeled “MF”. That was Castiel. She hit it. There was no message, simply a beep. “Castiel? It’s Claire. Um, I’m in Portland? Oregon. And people are just going batshit. They all look like demons, and they’re all attacking each other, but it doesn’t make much sense. Why –“

 

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind, and she gasped and dropped her phone. She cringed when it broke on the sidewalk, but also didn’t much care, as she was struggling to break free from the man who had a vice like grip on both her arms.

 

“Hello there, little wing,” a man crooned into her ear. All she could see of him was silver hair. He smelled like gunpowder and blood. “You’re my angel bait.”

 

And before she could do anything, the world disappeared.

 

**

 

Dean’s current happy place was an empty roadside bar. It had a jukebox and a pool table, and all the booze he could theoretically drink. How much could Death drink? All he wanted, that’s how much. Since alcohol had no effect on him, it was kind of pointless.

 

He could also people this place, crowd it up, but since Ascension he sort of enjoyed being alone. The thing Cas tried to warn him about, but Dean never understood until he became Death, was there was no more alone time. You felt everything. If it was living, it was on the sensor network that now spread across everything, a brain without a skull, and he could feel every little death. It should have been horrible, but somehow it wasn’t. He understood now how angels could casually accept a small group of deaths in exchange for a larger one, because ten thousand deaths felt like nothing compared to ten million. And Dean had killed things his whole life. How was this different? He should feel every death; it should hit him like a bullet.

 

He had expected to become like an angel. Emotionless, logical, Vulcan. But he was still him. He still got mad, he still felt regret over the horrible things he had done, he really missed sex and bacon cheeseburgers. It was part of the new regime; angels attempting to incorporate some emotions in their sterile paradise. Maybe that’s why Cas seemed a little hippy-dippy nowadays, even though he was a cosmic death ray. But that kind of worked out for Dean, because Cas was endlessly patient with him, always eager to help him, determined not to let Dean go insane. He got the idea insanity would be very easy to reach, especially with this new sensory network he had to deal with, but Cas insisted it wouldn’t happen. According to him, Dean’s sense of self was way too strong. Was that a nice way of saying he was a dick? He suspected it. Maybe that’s why all – most – of the most powerful angels were dicks. You had to be to survive the barrage of the universe intact.

 

Death didn’t sleep, or eat, or dream. But Dean needed breaks, moments when he wasn’t always aware of what was going on, when he could be deliciously tuned out. Hence the happy place, a space in his mind he could go and block out everything. Cas taught him how to do this, and Dean had to be careful not to do this all the time. It was very tempting.

 

Led Zeppelin’s “Houses of the Holy” was playing on the jukebox, the whole record in its entirety, because it was just too ironic not to. He had his own pitcher of beer and was playing a game of pool by himself. It was nice. It felt like a small vacation from weird. Since time was a very loose concept, he could have been here for fifteen seconds, or fifteen days.

 

He did have friends he could now visit in Heaven, but he didn’t want to bug them all the time. Also, Bobby got so furious with him when he discovered he’d become Death. But he still allowed him to drop by and drink with him, play some cards, shoot the shit. At least he didn’t hold it against him, although last time Bobby looked at him sadly, and asked, “Son, do you realize you’ve traded the weight of the world for the weight of the universe?" Nope, not until he mentioned it. Ignorance was a kind of bliss.

 

Dean was setting up a shot when Cas suddenly walked in. “Dean, I’m sorry to intrude, but I may need your help.”

 

He straightened up, and put his cue on the table. He shut off the music with a thought. “What’s going on?”

 

Cas frowned slightly, which was unusual for him nowadays. “I got a call from Claire. She was saying something about a demon attack when she was cut off.”

 

Jesus fucking Christ, Crowley was going to make him do it, wasn’t he? Dean was dying (no pun intended) (okay, maybe just a little) to just wipe out a whole tenth of demon kind just to show him he wasn’t going to put up with his bullshit. He gave him fair warning, which Crowley absolutely hadn’t deserved. “Where?”

 

“She called from Oregon. I went there to check it out. I found her phone, and no sign of demons.”

 

Dean sat on the edge of the pool table, not sure where Cas was going with this. “Wait, what? Was it a trick?”

 

“No, I think it’s a sign of what I feared might happen. Because I picked up an energy signature of War.”

 

It took Dean a moment to realize War was capitalized. “The Horseman?”

 

Cas nodded. “He took Claire. I don’t know why. But I can’t find her or him.”

 

“He’s pissed off at the regime change, and he’s trying to take it out on you?” Dean shook his head at the Horseman’s stupidity. Was this really the hill he wanted to die on? “Can I take out War?”

 

Cas studied him a moment, as if not sure he should answer that question. But he finally did. “Of course you can.”

 

That’s sort of what he expected, he just hadn’t contemplated the possibility that the other Horseman would be on his chopping block. Dean picked up the hand scythe from where he put it on the bar. In a sense it was real, but honestly it was just a tangible expression of his own power. It was a dark river flowing inside him at all times, and all he needed to do to unleash it was let it go. “Let’s go reap a Horseman.”

 

If Dean’s hunch was right, he’d have to take them all out before this was done. That was okay by him.

 

Some grudges died hard. But at least now he could kill them for good.

 

**

 

Sam had not expected to spend Saturday night chasing monsters through a Podunk cemetery in Blackwell, Montana. But why not? The fact that he hadn’t done it in a couple of weeks just meant it had been unusually slow.

 

He and Charlie had arrived just in the nick of time. The demons had already broken into the crypt of a family named Conyers, and sicced ghouls on them so they could make a break for it. They had something, but Sam wasn’t one hundred percent sure what it was.

 

He hid behind a tree, trying to catch sight of one of the demons, and he finally did, a fleeting movement in the shadows. There were no working lights, and the moon was a fingernail sliver tonight, occasionally occluded by clouds. Sam charged after it, only to be slammed into by something with the force of a car.

 

He hit a crumbling tombstone and went down, the large ghoul on top of him pinning him and making a bite for his neck. He tried to squirm out from beneath him, but this was the biggest ghoul yet, at least six seven, maybe just shy of three hundred pounds. He smelled like rotten bologna.

 

Sam slammed his forehead into the ghoul’s mouth, loosening some of its yellowed teeth. It made a horrible noise, somewhere between a screech and a moan, and bit him on the cheek. Sam screamed and tried to reach his gun, which was wedged between his body and the ghoul’s, when a shotgun was suddenly pressed up against the ghoul’s head, and the trigger pulled. Sam could hear nothing but ringing in his ears as the ghoul’s head exploded like an overripe pumpkin.

 

Sam kicked its body off of him, and accepted Charlie’s hand up. “Where did that one come from?” she asked. He mostly lip read that one. How he and Dean escaped constant tinnitus was a mystery to him.

 

He was forced to shrug as he wiped ghoul brains and blood off his face. “And why are they working with demons? None of this makes sense.”

 

This was the second demon based grave robbery in as many days, although the last one had been in Guadalajara. To add to the curiosity factor, the dug up, robbed grave had belonged to someone in a potter’s field, an absolutely anonymous body. There couldn’t have been anything in there worth stealing.

 

But the Conyers? Maybe. The last Conyers to die and be entombed in the crypt had been Lemuel Conyer, a collector of antiquities, many of them magical or demon, and it was assumed one of those was responsible for his bizarre death in 1958. (He had ingested a glass pitcher and two wine glasses, somehow without chewing them, and they broke apart in his stomach, shredding it and killing him.) As far as Sam – and the Men of Letters – knew, all his artifacts had been stolen or destroyed decades ago.

 

Sam scanned the cemetery as best he could, but it looked like the ghouls had bought the demons enough time to get away. What the hell? He knew the demons were at a loss since Dean became Death, but this kind of acting out was beyond weird. “Should we go after them?” Charlie asked.

 

He shook his head, and started stalking back towards the crypt. They had too much of ahead start. “No point. I just want to know what they’ve stolen.”

 

Only head shots took out ghouls, so there were several headless corpses scattered around, including one Sam had to decapitate the hard way. He’d lost his machete, so he used a tombstone to smash a ghoul’s skull flat. It was not even in the top twenty of the grossest things he had ever done. On the walk back to the crypt, he found his machete stuck under another headless corpse, and picked it up.

 

The crypt had seen better decades, and the demons breaking through the door had caused part of it to collapse. He had to duck to work his way in, although lucky Charlie was just small enough to slip inside without a problem.

 

It smelled like dust and dirt, the sweetly rotten scent of decay a simple suggestion now, since the flesh had completely decomposed long ago. He tucked his machete in a sheath and took out his flashlight, which was also heavy enough to use as a bludgeon. As a Winchester, you quickly learned that items that could double as an impromptu weapon were the most valuable.

 

Charlie put on a head lamp, and turned it on. He raised an eyebrow her way. “What, it keeps my hands free.”

 

Well, he had to give her that. If she could live with its slightly dorky look, so could he.

 

A quick search showed that the demons had been targeting Lemuel’s resting place specifically. It was now just a hole in the ground with scattered chunks of marble lying around, threatening to trip them.

 

Sam crouched down, and examined some of the marble. Most of it was white, but some of it was green, and call him crazy, but he didn’t think they used two different kinds of marble in a crypt this small. “We should take some of this back to the Bunker, test it.”

 

“For what?” She crouched down and joined him in searching through the rubble, although she kept glancing at the doorway. This was her first time fighting ghouls, and he thought she did really well, but maybe he should have left out the whole cannibal thing.

 

“Anything. This means something, I’m just not sure what yet.” While sifting through some chunks, he got something smeared on his fingers. It was green and slimy, and before he wiped it off on his pant leg, he sniffed it. It smelled like blood. What demon had green blood?

 

“Uh, Sam,” Charlie said, holding out a big shard of marble. “Does this mean anything?”

 

It was a hand sized piece of rock, and it had the remnants of indecipherable symbols – not Enochian, but maybe something similar – on it. The one he could make out was shaped like a crescent moon. Or maybe a scythe.

 

There was no way this was good. But what the hell were they after?


	2. Don't Fear The Reaper

 

**_2 – Don’t Fear The Reaper_ **

 

Charlie wasn’t sure if she remembered Heaven, or if it was a weird dream. She just figured, because of the strange conversation she had with Dean, it actually happened. Besides, her dreams were usually chaotic and all over the place, but this one had very specific consistencies. According to Sam, you only remembered Heaven if they wanted you to, so she assumed Dean wanted her to remember. Maybe for the apology.

 

She was in the rec room of the LGBT outreach center she spent some time at as a teen, setting up for a game of Dungeons and Dragons. She found some fellow gay geeks there, and finally talked them into playing some D & D, which shouldn’t have been a thrill, but kind of was. She was setting up some figures on the table, wondering if she should have brought her bronze dragon, when Dean came into the room.

 

It was a real shock, because this was in her life before everything went insane, and he was part of her life after she realized monsters actually did exist, and oh yeah, they wanted to eat your face at every given opportunity. He looked around the sunny room with its rainbow theme, and said, “Nice.” He then saw the figurines on the table and came over to check them out. “These yours?”

 

“Yeah,” she said, as he sat at the table and examined her wraith. “They weren’t always easy to find, so I got ‘em where I could.”

 

He swapped the wraith for the green hag. “I think I could re-enact my childhood with these.”

 

She sat down across from him, rolling out her twenty sided dice. “Show me on the orc where the demon punched you.”

 

Like she guessed, Dean laughed. Sam was the nicer brother, all things considered, but she felt like she had more in common with Dean, and could never put her finger on why. Until the penny dropped at the Renaissance Fair. Not that she had ever told him she’d figured it out. Also, she’d found out later he was a closet Trekkie, and that was frigging adorable. “I’m not sure I could do this,” he said, putting down the hag. “My move would be to kill everything until I was dead.”

 

“Well, if you could learn the rules, I wouldn’t mind having you on my team.” It occurred to her then that it was not only weird having Dean in a memory of a time before she met him, but also … what? She got a sense she shouldn’t be talking to anyone at all.

 

Did Dean look different? He seemed the same, but he swapped out his brown leather jacket for a black one, and he had a weird looking blade hanging off his belt. She thought it looked like one of those things you brought crops in with. A scythe? But without the long handle.

 

He folded his hands in front of him, a nervous gesture, before finally saying, “I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?” But then she got these … flashes. Smash cuts of violent images, nothing too clear. Blood spatter on the wall, the shocking, sharp pain of being stabbed. Was she stabbed? That sucked.

 

Dean looked like he was going to tell her, but at the last second bailed. He couldn’t say it, or didn’t want to say it. “Thank you for trying to help me. But I would’ve never wanted you to put yourself in danger for me.”

 

“Why not? You’d do it for me. Of course I’m … holy crap, am I dead?”

 

He nodded, looking sad. It seemed genuine. “You never should have died. So I’m sending you back.”

 

“Huh? You can do that?”

 

“Now, yeah. Could you do me a favor, though? Can you check up on Sam once in a while, make sure he’s okay?”

 

“Sure.” So that’s what was different about him. She was getting a sense of energy from Dean, kind of like Cas, but not exactly. “Are you not … you’re still Human, right?”

 

Dean grimaced and shook his head. “No. Sam can catch you up on everything. It’s a long story.”

 

“Hey, before I go, could you answer something for me?”

 

“What?”

 

She leaned forward, even though they were alone in the rec room, and whispered, “You’re totally bi, right?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“C’mon, it’s just us here, and it’s a safe space. Besides, at the Renaissance Fair, I totally clocked you checking out guys as well as girls. Those weren’t casual glances.” Also, he had a tendency to do it when Sam either wasn’t around or was busy with something else. He was a closeted guy who knew how to keep his secrets, and had probably been hiding it for so long it was automatic by now. It explained so much about Dean! All the bluster and machismo, all the sexual tension with Cas, his tendency to avoid relationships, and why she felt she had more in common with him than Sam, even though Sam was almost as big a geek as she was. Not all gay people knew each other, but she had a good sense of her fellow LGBT-ers, and she had a feeling if Dean ever really let himself go, he wouldn’t just stick to women. It was a real shock too, because if you had asked her ahead of time which Winchester might have swung both ways, she’d have picked Sam. Maybe it was the hair.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow at her, and smirked slightly. No fucking way was he going to confirm anything now. But she kind of felt she got confirmation anyway, simply because he didn’t deny it. “Go kick some ass for me,” he said, and reached across the table to touch her on the forehead.

 

Her next clear memory was waking up at the Bunker, disoriented as hell. She had no idea what day it was, or why she was there. Sam was there, and got her up to speed, which took a while. She’d been dead two and a half weeks! That was fucking crazy. How was that even possible? How was she not a zombie? Also, oh yeah, Dean was Death now? She felt like Sam was just making shit up to see how much she’d buy. Except it was all true. The world couldn’t be more nuts if gravity suddenly reversed itself, and everybody became pieces of talking toast.

 

She never told Sam about her suspicions about Dean’s sexuality, ‘cause it was his truth to tell, not hers. Never mind he probably wasn’t in a position to tell it anymore. But she got the sense Sam knew about Dean, just never brought it up, because, again, his deal.

 

Sam was pressing on, being a good Winchester and an even better Man of Letters, but she knew he was kind of depressed. He missed his brother, and was worried about Dean because now he was an immortal constant of the universe. It was a good thing he didn’t send out a Christmas newsletter, ‘cause she had no idea how he was ever going to explain that. He couldn’t even go to group therapy about it, because no one else had ever had a similar experience.

 

Getting back to being alive was totally weird. She was pretty sure she hadn’t really come to grips with the fact that she was murdered. (Although hearing that Dean had brutally killed the guy who did it made her feel guiltily so much better. Again, killing people, not cool. But Dean was totally her hero. If she ever saw him again, he was getting a kiss for that. And he could be her D & D partner anytime. You always needed a chaotic good on your squad.) If she was at all honest with herself, she was trying not think about it. Her memories of the incident were so fuzzy, she could almost convince herself it never happened.

 

(But if it never happened, how did she remember talking with Dean in Heaven?)

 

Monster hunting with Sam was kind of fun. He basically had a monster manual in his head, as he knew how to identify and how to kill every creeping beastie out there. The Winchesters had seen just about everything twice, and killed it. They got to digitize the archives together, which was a blast, and sometimes on the drive out somewhere, they’d discuss which Harry Potter book was the best one, and which comic books Hollywood should actually be adapting for the big screen. He was like the big brother she never had.

 

And he was so sad, and trying desperately not to show that he was. Maybe the greatest tragedy here was the Winchester brothers would always cause each other misery, and never quite know how to stop it.

 

Once they got back in the car, Sam drove while she found a signal and tried to search for those weird symbols in the Bunker’s database. “So ghouls and demons do their own thing?”

 

Sam nodded. “When monsters work together, there’s a huge problem. They’re generally solo acts.”

 

It was Montana at night, which meant there was a whole lot of nothing for miles, but the sky above was actually pretty, full of stars. While the bot did its crawl through the database, she checked her email, and saw a weird notice. Scanning it, she gasped. “Oh my God.”

 

“What?”

 

“A publishing house has bought the rights to Carver Edlund’s Supernatural novels, and is reprinting them. As non-fiction.”

 

Sam nearly swerved off the road, but since they were alone on this abandoned stretch of highway, it didn’t matter. “What? Why the hell would they do that?”

 

“I dunno. Because now everybody knows there’s creepy stuff in the world? And you could see them as to do manuals on how to kill demons and banish ghosts and stuff.”

 

“Damn it.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. Sam was becoming as taciturn as Dean in his absence, at least when they were out hunting. “Never tell Dean.”

 

“Hell no. Do you think I’m crazy?” She’d never told him she’d read some of those before she met them. She’d always felt bad for Dean, sacrificing pieces of his own childhood to look after his little brother while their father chased his obsessions. But again, she wasn’t crazy. She never said a word about it, and she wasn’t about to start now.

 

The road seemed to stretch out forever, as did the emptiness of the land around them. Montana had pretty spots, especially when you got up near the mountains, but it also had a buttload of nothing. So much nothing it was almost Kansas, or a Dakota. She didn’t understand how anyone lived here without going crazy.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash, and suddenly there was a person standing in the center of the road. Sam hit the brakes, and the Impala came to a tire squealing stop just before hitting the man.

 

He was tall and gaunt, and so pale he was almost luminescent. His eyes were like two dark holes in the snow. “Oh shit,” Sam exclaimed, and quickly threw the car into reverse, but before he could do much more than that, he popped open the door and violently threw up all over the asphalt.

 

“Are you –“ She began, but then felt a solid wave of nausea herself. She fumbled for the door and got it open just in time, losing her lunch all over the road. A feverish wave of heat flushed through her body, and she was nearly dizzy with it. What the hell was this, fast acting food poisoning?

 

The gaunt man was on Sam’s side of the car, as he had collapsed on the side of the road. It looked like he was trying to stand, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Sam Winchester,” the man said. He had snot dripping from his nose, and it looked like he a livid series of boils across his forehead. “I know we’re supposed to leave you alone, but how fun would it be to send you back to your brother now? It’d serve the pair of you right. How could you be so arrogant to think a mere Human belonged with us?”

 

“P –“ Sam said, struggling to speak. He must have been sicker than her, because she felt like she could talk if she really wanted to. “P- Pestilence. W- why don’t you?”

 

Pestilence? As in the Four Horseman’s Pestilence? Oh shit.

 

Pestilence chuckled. It sounded like a gate with a creaky hinge flapping in the wind. “I intend to. But as slowly as possible. He comes if you die, right? But not if you spend weeks in the hospital, dying from some odd combination of ebola and the bird flu. How does that feel, by the way? Too much abdominal pain, or too much internal bleeding?”

 

She heard Sam retch, and she tried to stand up, hoping to reach back into the car for her gun, but she was too dizzy to do much more than lay on the road. It felt like her insides were boiling, and she struggled out of her coat in time to see some ugly rash flare to life on her arm. He was going to kill them with sickness? How fair was that? Besides that, she died not too long ago. She hadn’t really had a chance to do much living yet.

 

“How about a little leprosy?” Pestilence said, still taunting Sam. He was ignoring her. “I know it’s curable, but let’s see if we can have one of your lesser body parts fall off first, huh?”

 

She caught a glimpse of Sam beneath the car. He had so much blood spurting out of his nose and ears she had no idea how he was still conscious. But Pestilence was probably keeping him that way, so he’d suffer more.

 

She had nothing that would write on asphalt. So she was going to have to do something really gross while she was still conscious enough to do something. And see straight, since her vision was starting to blur, and the blacktop was starting to swim like it was a thousand degrees.

 

Using her vomit, she started to draw out the symbol Sam showed her. The sigil that summoned Death.

 

“I’m going to have so much fun experimenting on you and your little friend,” Pestilence jeered, as a sharp pain in her stomach made her reflexively curl up in a ball. It felt like someone was stabbing her with a red hot poker. “There’s this new variation on e. coli I’ve been dying to try. Excuse the pun.”

 

Charlie tasted blood, and her throat started hurting like it was being cut it by a thousand different razor blades. Oh shit, strep throat? She once had that so bad as a kid she was hospitalized.

 

Pestilence kicked Sam, who was curled up in a ball and unable to defend himself in any capacity.

 

Charlie tried to swallow, and found she couldn’t. It felt like her throat was swelling shut. She finished the symbol as best she could – she wasn’t seeing so well near the end – and while she was aware that Pestilence was continuing to taunt Sam, she could no longer make out the words. She was losing her hearing too.

 

She was sure she finished the symbol as correctly as she could recall, but Dean wasn’t here. Then she remembered she forgot one thing: blood. She spit out a mouthful on the symbol, resting her head on the warm but somehow still cooling blacktop.

 

There was a sonic boom, a shockwave she could feel pass over her like a warm breeze, and the windows of the Impala exploded, covering her in shattered glass.

 

And suddenly, Dean was standing on the hood of the car. She thought she could briefly see the shadow of wings on his back, but not wings with feathers. They were wings made purely of bones, skeletal, stark. Befitting an Angel of Death.

 

“No,” Pestilence said, backing up a step. He then looked startled, like something that should have happened didn’t.

 

“You’re not going anywhere, Pesty,” Dean said, hopping off the hood.

 

“Stay back, or I boil his brains in his skull,” Pestilence said, holding his hand over Sam. Whatever he was doing made Sam seize and scream.

 

Dean moved so fast he was a blur. In one second, he’d grabbed the scythe, and lopped off Pestilence’s hand. Pestilence’s arm flew off into the dirt, and Charlie could see the blood boil out as a swarm of black flies pouring into the night.

 

Pestilence made a weird noise, a sort of abortive squeak, and grabbed the stump of his arm. He was backing down the road, and Dean was smiling coldly at him. There was little doubt who had the power here. “Where’s War? Where did he take Claire?”

 

“Fuck you!”

 

“I will chop off every limb you have,” Dean said. He said it conversationally, which made it ten thousand times scarier. “I will slice you up until you’re just a head, which I will keep in a box, in the dark, until you tell me what I want to know. And then maybe I’ll kill you.”

 

Pestilence was actually snarling, like a rabid dog. “You filthy mud monkey. I’m the god here, not you. I will make your precious Earth drown in its own blood! I am the alpha and the omega! I will slaughter everything you hold dear! I will curse every town between here and the sea with a plague so virulent even you won’t be able to keep up with all the dying! I’m -  


“Done.” Dean decapitated him so violently Pestilence’s head went rolling down the road like a thrown rock.

 

Charlie could suddenly breathe again, and didn’t feel like she was gargling broken glass. She gulped in the cool night air, which was so damn nice. How had she not noticed that before?

 

She rolled over onto her back, panting for breath, and suddenly Cas was there, offering her a hand up. She took it. The wave of peace and calm that enveloped her was a nice side effect. Cas was just so nice to be around nowadays.

 

“You okay?” Dean asked. She imagined it was aimed at Sam, but he looked at her too.

 

She nodded, and Sam used the Impala to stand up. Dean made a move to help him, then suddenly stopped and took a step back. Would he kill Sam if he touched him? Suddenly she wondered. “Yeah, thanks.” Sam then looked at her. “Good thinking.” Sam turned his gaze back on his previous brother. “What was that about Claire?”

 

“War kidnapped her,” Cas said. “We’re not sure why.”

 

“Although with Pestilence attacking you, I’m sensing a pattern,” Dean said, putting his scythe back on his belt. Pestilence’s body was simply gone, as if it had never been here. The black swarm of flies seemed to be gone too.

 

“It’s folly,” Cas said. “They had to know how you’d react.”

 

“Could they be deliberately provoking a fight?” Sam wondered, using his shirt to wipe the blood off his face.

 

Cas frowned in thought. “To what end? They can’t win a fight with Death.”

 

“Under normal circumstances. Maybe they’re trying to even the odds.”

 

While Sam went on to tell them about the grave robberies and the demons and ghouls working together, Charlie wiped her hand on her jacket, and retrieved her laptop from the glass strewn passenger seat. While Pestilence was torturing them with illness, the computer had found a match.

 

“Guys, I’ve got something. That mark we found in the crypt is a match for one used as a type of binding spell. A binding spell used to … oh shit.”

 

Sam looked mildly alarmed. “What?”

 

“A binding spell used to reassemble the Dagger of Mot. The Dagger of Mot is a myth, supposedly –“

 

“A weapon so powerful it can destroy Death itself,” Cas interrupted, finishing what was on her screen without looking. He didn’t need to look, as he was clearly reciting from memory. “It’s not a myth.”

 

“And you never told us about this why?” Dean asked.

 

“It was broken into several pieces and scattered across the Earth,” Cas said. “It’s not that easy to put back together.”

 

At least the sounded hopeful. She and Sam shared a relieved look. “So they couldn’t have put it back together yet?” he asked.

 

Cas shook his head. “The final binding ritual calls for a massive sacrifice.”

 

Charlie, Dean, and Sam all shared questioning looks, as if playing a purely mental game of hot potato. Then both brothers shook their fists, and Sam threw rock, while Dean threw scissors in a very hasty game of rock, paper, scissors. “Damn it!” Dean said. “I’m Death, I should win this game.”

 

“You always throw scissors,” Sam said.

 

Charlie swallowed a smile. It was nice to see they were still brothers, in spite of it all.

 

“Fine,” Dean said. “What kind of sacrifice are we talking here, Cas?”

 

“Five hundred people will have to die to restore the Dagger of Mot to a single piece. It has to soak in the blood of the innocent.”

 

Well, that was cheerful. “Any idea how many pieces they have of it?” Dean asked Sam.

 

Sam was forced to shrug. “We only know about two grave robberies. I can put out a general call among Hunters, see if anyone else has run across some.”

 

Dean nodded. “Do that. We have to stop them before they put this thing together.”

 

“We’ll keep an ear out for reports of people going crazy,” Sam added. “If War is anywhere on Earth, his location will eventually become apparent.”

 

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean then looked at the Impala, and scowled. “Did I do that?”

 

“The summoning of Death always has a cost,” Cas said. But the angel stepped forward and put his hand on the car, and suddenly the windows were back intact, and there was no shattered glass to be found.

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You can heal cars?”

 

Cas looked briefly puzzled, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer that. “You don’t heal cars, you repair them –“

 

“You can do that? Could you do that all this time?” Dean looked like he was about to lose his shit.

 

Cas seemed reluctant to answer. “Well, I suppose.”

 

“Damn it, man, why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asked. “You could have saved me so much money and time.”

 

“You never asked.”

  
For a moment, Dean seemed perfectly flabbergasted. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “We need to have a talk upstairs.”

 

“Upstairs?” Cas was so cute when he was befuddled. “Oh.”

 

“Take care of yourselves,” Dean said, making sure he met the eyes of both Charlie and Sam. “Summon me anytime. I’ll be in touch.”

 

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said. He sounded almost wistful.

 

Dean gave him a nod, and then both he and Cas were simply gone, with the slightest ruffle of wings.

 

Sam ran a hand across his eyes, and that was Charlie’s first clue Sam had been getting teary eyed. But he sniffed and got back in the driver’s seat like they hadn’t almost been sickened to death on a lonely Montana highway. Charlie got in the passenger side and closed the door. She considered telling him it was okay, but then reconsidered. He was a Winchester, he liked to try on the stoic thing from time to time.

 

They had gone a mile down the road before she decided to speak. “You know, in spite of the barfing, I’m starving.”

 

“Me too,” Sam admitted. “There’s a truck stop a couple miles from here. We can stop there and grab a bite. Maybe talk to some other Hunters.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, and pretended not to notice how sad he was.


	3. Born To Kill

****

**__**

**_3 – Born To Kill_ **

 

 

 

Crowley was just enjoying his first cocktail of the evening when Dean suddenly stormed into his throne room, and lobbed a severed head at his feet. “Ooh, a present, for little old me?”

  
When it stopped rolling, he saw it was Pestilence, without a runny nose for once. “Did you have anything to do with this?” Dean demanded.

 

“Pestilence? That’s Heaven’s work detail, not mine.” Crowley kicked the head into the corner. “Good riddance to bad rubbish. What did he do?”

 

Dean was still glaring at him, as if trying to read his mind. He couldn’t of course, which was probably the only reason he was still alive. “He attacked Sam and Charlie. And War took Claire. Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

 

“I assure you I did not. How stupid do you think I am?” Attacking Sam, right after Crowley told them that was how you got dead the fastest? Idiot. So Pestilence was not only disgusting, he was a drooling moron. “Besides, the Horsemen don’t like me since I sided against Lucifer.” Or they would have if they knew anything about it. Crowley had gone out of his way to make sure they didn’t.

 

Dean continued to glare at him, unconvinced, but the mere fact that he wasn’t dead yet meant Dean was giving him the benefit of some doubt. That was so very Human of him. A Human Death was such a weird concept. Were they doing peyote in Heaven now? Might do them some good.

 

“Don’t fuck with me, Crowley,” Dean warned.

 

“I’d never. Well, not now that you’re Death.”

 

“Then why are demons looking for the Dagger of Mot?”

 

Oh shit. How could things be falling apart so fast? This was Pestilence’s fault. If he wasn’t such a single minded sickness factory, maybe he wouldn’t have made so many rookie mistakes. “They’re not under my command.”

 

Dean took a couple of steps towards the throne, and Crowley could see his wings in all their glory. A framework of bones and nothing more. Very dramatic and flamboyant, but would have made a great tattoo. The doors to the room opened, and his guards started to come in. Dean looked back at them, and snapped, “Try me.”

 

After a nervous glance at their boss, they backed out and shut the door. They may have been his bodyguards, but they had sense. “I assure you, Dean, I’m not plotting against you.”

 

Dean put his hands on the arms of the throne and leaned in, giving Crowley very little room to move. “You’re always plotting against everyone. You’re the King of Hell.”

 

He shrugged. He had to give him that. Dean Winchester was a lot of things, but he wasn’t that stupid. A little stupid, sure, but what Human wasn’t? “True. But why would I want to take you out? Heaven would just replace you, maybe with someone worse. I’m not a masochist.”

 

“You understand why I’m having a hard time believing any of the shit that falls out of your mouth, right?”

 

“Of course. But I’d like to think, after all we’ve been through, we’re friends, Dean.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and Crowley just smiled at him. They had been through so much together. He really got to like demon Dean; that was a man who knew how to have a good time. Human Dean was a pain, and he wasn’t caring much for Death Dean at all. “Now I know you’re up to something.”

 

“Oh ye of little faith,” Crowley replied, before having a sip of his drink.

 

“If you had anything to do with this, I will destroy your empire. Then I’ll destroy you.”

 

Crowley put his drink down and sighed. Oh, he was so tired of threats. “You’re getting a little big for your britches there, Winchester. You seem to keep forgetting I am not helpless. You may be Death, but I’ve been Hell’s boss for years. I was selling souls before your great-grandfather was born. So don’t threaten me like I’m some helpless kitten at your mercy, because I am not. Don’t get ideas above your station.”

 

Dean’s wings flared behind him, indicating that somebody was about to have a snit. “Above my station? Are you really beyond Death, Crowley?”

 

“Are you really beyond Hell?” he snapped. “I could trap you, and I could find out how much you learned last time you were here, Dean. Or did you lose your guilt when you lost your physical body?”

 

Dean’s glare became molten. He was utterly furious, but Crowley knew he wasn’t going to do anything, because of course he still had guilt. The only thing that ever rid him of it was the demon form of the Mark of Cain.

 

But Crowley was suddenly aware of another intrusion, and heard a familiar voice say, “It’s amusing to hear you talking about guilt.”

 

Castiel. He was standing several feet away, near the doors … that were no longer there. Cas had apparently wiped them out. Now the throne room was a prison, with no way out or in. His guards would have to break through the wall to get in, although he doubted Cas would even let them get that far.

 

Okay, now things had taken a horrible turn. Time to start to backtracking. One he could take on. Both of them at once? No chance. Crowley smiled. “Just a discussion between old friends.”

 

“Really?” Dean took a step back, so Cas could come closer. Dean was no dummy; he knew the pair of them had him dead to rights. Distantly, Crowley heard thudding, which he took to mean his guards had discovered there were no doors anymore. “I could have sworn you were threatening Dean.”

 

“Never.”

 

Dean scoffed. Cas’s expression didn’t change one iota. He stared at him implacably, same old humorless angel, and before Crowley knew what was happening, he was thrown across the room, and pinned high up on the wall. Cas had raised his hand, but that was all he did. Still he had had no expression. “If I find out you had anything to do with Claire’s kidnapping, I will turn you Human and drop you in the Ukraine in the middle of winter. Then I’ll give every demon who’s ever hated you your coordinates. Do you understand me?”

 

Crowley was glad he didn’t have to breathe, because the pressure on his ribcage was so great he was pretty sure he couldn’t even if he’d wanted to. “Absolutely.”

 

Cas dropped his hand, and Crowley plummeted to the floor. He hit it hard enough he wondered if Cas had briefly increased the gravity. Son of a bitch. Did becoming an Archangel instantly make angels bigger dicks? He sat up gasping, rubbing his chest. “I can help you.”

 

“Oh, can you?” Dean replied.

 

He didn’t have to be so bloody smug about it. Anybody could win a fight if they a goddamned Archangel in their corner. “If War’s anywhere on Earth, my people will know. Demons can smell Horsemen. I’ll put the word out.”

 

“What about the Dagger of Mot?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“I’ll let it be known that any demon recovering pieces of it are traitors.”

 

Cas nodded. He gazed at him with eyes that were curiously blank of any recognizable emotion, but Crowley saw something like white sparks in his irises; energy ready to explode. He was Biblical levels of fuck shit up angry, but he was so laid back now he was saving it for when he could use it. Crowley didn’t want to be anywhere near when he did. “If you’re lying to us, you won’t even be a memory, Crowley. It’ll be like you never existed at all.” The fact that he said it so dispassionately made it endlessly worse. He was stating a simple fact. Cas wasn’t going to just kill him; he was going to erase him.

 

They disappeared in a ruffle of wings, and his idiot bodyguards fell in the now re-appearing doors.

 

Time to start burning it all down. Famine and War were on their own now. He had to distance himself from them as soon as possible, but that wouldn’t be hard, as he was very careful in the first place. It wasn’t the first time one of his partnerships went South; he knew how to set up an eject button.

 

But how long could he stall before Dean or Cas demanded information from him? He had to assume the clock was ticking.

 

Usually playing both sides against the middle was fun. But Crowley just knew this one was going to epically suck, no matter who won.

 

**

 

Claire was really surprised to wake up in her old house. Although not at first.

 

At first, she simply went downstairs and poured herself a bowl of cereal, wondering if this was a school day or not. For some reason, the calendar in the kitchen was blank. It had the grid of days, but none were marked. They were simply empty squares, without even a named month. That weird little detail seemed to spark something in her fuzzy head.

 

She couldn’t be in this house anymore. After her dad walked out (was taken by Castiel), and her mother went missing (searching for a way to get to the angels), the bank took the house back. Why was she even here?

 

Claire got up from the table, and looked out the window. Even though sunlight had been streaming in her bedroom, outside the kitchen it was pitch black. Not even the garden solar lights were on, which never happened. She tried to open the door, just on a hunch, but the doorknob didn’t turn. So either she was trapped in a simulacrum of her old family house, or none of this was actually happening.

 

“Perhaps you do remember more than you think.”

 

She spun, only to find her mother standing by the stove. Except her mother was dead. Claire lunged to the silverware drawer and grabbed for a kitchen knife, only for it to disappear as soon as she picked it up.

 

“I mean you no harm,” the thing pretending to be her mother said.

 

“Really? Then let me go.”

 

“Not just yet,” her fake mom said. “I bet you thought you forgot the time Castiel took you over.”

 

She froze. “What?”

 

“I’m sure he took it out of your memory, but traces remain. He couldn’t completely get rid of your father’s sacrifice to save you.”

 

Claire turned slowly, not completely sure what this asshole was telling her. But didn’t she know?

 

Yes, she knew. Now that fake mom had mentioned it, she had vague memories of sitting in the kitchen, and Castiel talking to her, asking if she would allow him to take her as a vessel so she could save her father and herself. Of course she said yes. Who would say no to that?

 

She was Castiel’s vessel? It wasn’t for long, but yeah, she was. She couldn’t really remember a lot about it, although now … oh God. She remembered her dying Dad begging Castiel to take him back and free her. When did … why did she forget that? How could she forget that?

 

“Angels do that. We can be overwhelming for a Human mind to comprehend, especially children’s, and it’s better if we take the memories with us.”

 

“Us?” Of course this asshat wearing her mother’s face was an angel. What else would it be but the bastards who ruined her life. She sat back down at the table, aware that there was nothing she could do. Unless this was real and she still had the angel blade in her jacket, but she moved her arm when she sat down and didn’t feel it. “Who are you?”

 

Her fake mom sat down across from her, but ramrod straight, which was something her real mother almost never did. “My real name is impossible for you to pronounce. Call me Hezekiah.”

 

Oh joy, a weird ass Biblical name. That was never a good sign. “Why am I here?”

 

“Because we need to talk. You know why Castiel took your father, and briefly took you, yes?”

 

“Because we’re unlucky?”

 

“Because being angel vessels is in your blood. Not just any angels either. Very powerful ones.”

 

Claire could guess where this was going, and didn’t like it. “No. In fact, fuck no. I’m no one’s vessel.” Her poor dad. She never remembered that before. In a way, Castiel did save her dad’s life, however briefly, while her dad saved hers. Why hadn’t he told her, or at least opened up the memory? Why did he leave it to some jerkface angel from off the street?

 

Hezekiah sat forward, clasping her hands together. “Don’t you want revenge?”

 

Of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. “What?”

 

“Revenge. Against Castiel. He killed your father. Your father would have been in no position to be killed if he hadn’t shown up. You could have lived your life as a normal family. Your mother and father could both be alive. You could have had a normal life.”

 

She scoffed. “Could I have a pony too? I mean, if you’re just gonna make up shit, might as well go all the way, huh?”

 

Hezekiah finally stopped giving her a patronizing smile. “You think I can’t do what I say?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re basically talking about time travel, and I don’t see a Tardis anywhere. So excuse me if I’m not swallowing your crap, Doctor.”

 

Hezekiah cocked his head and furrowed his brow in a way that was eerily familiar. Did angels all have the same body language guide? “I don’t understand most of what you’re saying, but yes, I can time travel. Is that what you wish to do?”

 

Claire felt like she’d just had the wind knocked out of her. “Wait, what? You can time travel?”

 

Hezekiah attempted to shrug, but it just looked like a weird full body hiccup. “Time is a river. It’s easy enough to traverse it, at least for my kind.”

 

Her mind was reeling. “We can go back in time, and stop my dad from accepting Castiel?”

 

Hezekiah at least managed to nod in a realistic way. “If that is what you wish, yes.”

 

“But I have to accept you first, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So how do I know you aren’t just lying to me to make me accept?”

 

Hezekiah frowned. “Angels don’t lie.”

 

Well, she knew that wasn’t true. She got the idea he thought it was, though. Was he just naïve, or being manipulative? “I need time to think about this,” she finally said. She was so full of conflicting emotions she didn’t know what to do.

 

If angels could time travel, what was stopping her from hitting the reset button on her life? Her mom wouldn’t have had to die; her dad wouldn’t have had to die. She wouldn’t have had to spend her life bouncing around group homes. She could be a normal person.

 

But that was assuming he was telling the truth. If he was lying, she was just a sucker, and might end up like her mom. Also, wouldn’t she end up an angel vessel regardless? Was there some angel repelling spell or something in that book Dean gave her? It was kind of hard to remember now.

 

“You don’t have that much time,” Hezekiah said.

 

And that was suspicious, wasn’t it? Claire wondered how long she could stall, before Hezekiah forced the issue.

 

**

 

Sam gave Sheriff Jody Mills a truncated tour of the bunker, as he’d left Charlie to coordinate with other Hunters about potential grave robberies. She seemed fascinated, and really wanted to go through the weapons vault, but agreed to wait for another time.

 

“And nobody knew this was here?” she asked.

 

Sam shrugged. “Things get lost.”

 

“An entire building?” She shook her head. “I’ve had some disorganized deputies in my life, but that’s just ridiculous.”

 

They had to bring in Jody on this, since Claire was supposed to be with her. As it turned out, Claire left for Portland for some kind of music festival, although in retrospect, Jody wondered if she wasn’t running off. She was restless and apparently still angry, although she seemingly forgave Castiel. But as Jody rightfully pointed out, teenagers could change their mind every three days.

 

Still, Jody brought a couple of things she found hidden in Claire’s room at her place, stuff she probably thought she’d be coming back for, and Jody wouldn’t find. A supernatural lore book, and Tamiel’s angel sword. The second Sam saw it, he couldn’t help but growl, “Dean.”

 

Jody glanced at him as she laid out the sword on the table. “Dean gave it to her?”

 

“He must have. He wasn’t going to let her leave unarmed.” On the one hand, he could understand that. On the other hand … a fucking angel sword?! That was like giving a sub-machine gun to a ten year old. Maybe start with angel blades and work up.

 

Jody studied the sword, as if trying to make sense of it. He wished her luck. “He really has the protective big brother thing down pat, doesn’t he?”

 

Just like that, Sam’s angry thoughts about Dean went away. Jody had no idea what a guilt trigger that was, but he wasn’t about to tell her. “He spent most of his life in the role. It’s probably automatic by now.”

 

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and Sam had the uncomfortable feeling she was accurately sizing him up. Jody was probably the smartest cop he had ever met, and that could be really disconcerting at times. Sometimes you really didn’t want people to know you. “And he’s Death now? Is this good or bad?”

 

“I’m still figuring that one out.”

 

Sam wandered down to the other end of the table, where Charlie was working on her laptop, constructing a map of substantiated grave robberies. “Found a pattern yet?”

 

She bit her lip, hesitating. “Maybe. I was hoping it’d form a picture, you know, like a duck, or a demon giving us the middle finger, but it’s a bit more random than that. I cross referenced with weird supernatural occurrences in the area around the same time, and came up with seven hits in total.” She tapped a button on her keyboard, and a flat map ofthe world came up, with red circles marking the areas. Mexico, America, Spain, South Korea, Ireland, Greenland (of all places), and Kenya.

 

“Of course it’s seven,” Sam muttered. “Damn it.”

 

“Seven?” Jody asked, having a look. “Is that significant?”

 

“It’s a Biblical number, so yes.” Sam rubbed his forehead, and tried to put it all together. Something huge was going on, but they didn’t have all the pieces yet. It was really irritating, because Sam felt he almost had it. It was taunting him, just at the edge of his awareness, like a word you couldn’t quite recall.

 

Jody shook her head. “I’m trying, but I still don’t understand all this stuff. Just give me something to shoot at.”

 

“Bobby would be proud,” he told her. She smiled.

 

Charlie’s computer bleeped, and she called up another window. “Um, guys? Maybe you should look outside.”

 

“What’s going on?” Jody asked, but Sam was already headed for the stairs. Jody soon followed.

 

“What am I looking for?” Sam asked Charlie.

 

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

 

Yeah, that didn’t sound ominous at all. Sam popped open the Bunker’s main door, braced for impact.

 

There was nothing there. It was a quiet day outside, with a lazy rain starting to fall, big drops splashing on the pavement and the grass.

 

Big red drops.

 

Sam held his hand out, and caught some in his palm. They were red and warm, and a single sniff told him everything he needed to know. “What the hell is this?” Jody asked, baffled.

 

“It’s raining blood,” Sam told her, trying to shake the blood off his hand.

 

If that wasn’t one of the most ominous portents imaginable, he didn’t know what was.


	4. Mouth For War

****

**__**

**_4 – Mouth For War_ **

 

 

Marcy wondered why she even bothered to come in to work anymore.

 

Yeah, she needed the money to live, but everybody was saying it was the “End of Days” now. Her mom especially. Of course, her mother was into those crazy preachers before demons showed up on Earth, but now that they had, she went into crazy pants overdrive. She expected her to call her one of these days and let her know she’d gotten into snake handling.

 

It made no difference at all to Marcy’s life. She was still a clerk at a big box store, still bored as hell, still unable to meet any men who were halfway decent. If she died now, she’d die alone and poor, and unable to see the point of anything. If God did exist, life was even crueler than she initially thought.

 

She’d just taken her break and was walking to the back when she noticed it had turned very dark outside all of the sudden, and it started to pour. Except the rain was dark, like it was muddy. Only when it streaked down the windows did she notice it was red.

 

“Holy shit,” Ben at check stand five exclaimed. “It’s raining blood.”

 

The store wasn’t really crowded, it was a dead time on a Tuesday, but suddenly everybody in the store was talking, almost drowning out the constant background pop music. In that case, it was a relief.

 

She went up to the windows and looked out, sure it was just red from rust or something, when she noticed a strange man in the parking lot.

 

First off, he was crazy tall. Like, almost seven feet tall. Basketball player size. But so skinny, like starved to death thin, joints and the knobs of his bones visible through skin pulled tight over his stretched out frame. His skin was jaundiced yellow, sickly, and his eyes were like vast dark holes in his knife blade thin skull. He was wearing a pinstriped suit that made his seemed even thinner, and he had an unruly mop of white hair that sat on his scalp like the world’s second worst toupee (Donald Trump still had the world’s worst one). And once her eyes fell on him, she felt cold to her toes, and a shock of fear as deep and hard as a knife plunged into her gut. She was so scared she was paralyzed. What was – what was he? He wasn’t Human. In fact, now that she couldn’t take her eyes off him, she noticed the blood rain wasn’t hitting him at all. It was like he was walking under an invisible umbrella.

 

He wasn’t a demon either. As she stood rooted to the spot, she realized, with dawning horror, this was God. And God was a motherfucking ghoul.

 

Behind her, she could hear people in the store going crazy. There was lots of screaming, and she could see, through a reflection on the inside of the window, Ben and Mike in a fistfight with a customer. Everybody was just losing their shit, and that was before he opened the door and stepped inside.

 

In person, his skin looked like wax, and she could see that he didn’t actually have eyes at all. Just empty sockets in his skull, empty sockets that still seemed to be aimed straight at her. She could feel his eyes like a dozen spiders crawling under her shirt. “So much fear,” he said, his voice like the wind whispering through the eaves. “So tasty.”

 

The thudding noise she heard was Ben smashing open the customer’s skull on the edge of the checkout counter. Mike was curled up under the conveyer belt, sobbing extravagantly. She would have joined him if she could have moved. She had never been this scared in her life. She thought she was going to die of a heart attack.

 

Finally his empty eyes moved on, and the God ghoul walked deeper into the store, sobbing and screaming rising to meet him as he glided weightlessly over the floor. She really wanted to move, she could feel her gorge rising, but she still couldn’t. She was almost too scared to breathe.

 

Which was why she was still looking out the window when an old black Impala pulled up.

 

**

 

Sam had a single chorus running through his head as he pulled weapons out of the trunk: _so fucked so fucked so fucked_. Second verse same as the first.

 

They didn’t have a lot of weapons that would even make a dent. As far as he could tell, the blood rain was the sign of arrival of Phobos, an actual old God. The God of Fear, if you put stock in that sort of thing. According to what he found in the Men of Letters archives, Phobos was a mean and bloody god, who got off on suffering and fed on fear. The more scared people were, the stronger he got, and he emanated waves of fear that no one was immune to. Or at least, nothing Human was. The archives had no idea what would hurt him, nevertheless kill him. Killing him actually might not be possible.

 

He was associated with War. They were old pals, went way back. Apparently they used to be a two for one deal. Considering everything going on, Sam imagined that was still true.

 

Phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, he made a quick call while making sure the shotgun had silver rounds in it. Silver wouldn’t kill Phobos, but scant data indicated he didn’t like it. “Cas, hey, we have a serious problem and I need you and Dean to show up ASAP.” He turned to hand the shotgun to Jody, and Cas was standing right there. Dean was off to one side, looking into the store like he smelled something bad coming from that direction.

 

“I missed Claire’s call today,” Cas explained. “I’m not missing any more.”

 

“What the hell am I picking up?” Dean asked.

 

“God energy,” Cas said, and looked at Sam for further explanation.

 

“Phobos,” Sam told them, dropping his phone in his pocket. “He’s associated with War, so I assume this part of his play. Whatever it is.”

 

Cas shook his head. “Phobos feeds on fear. It makes him stronger. Our priority should be to get those people out of there.”

 

“Can we kill it?” Jody asked, taking the shotgun.

 

Cas shook his head.

 

“Can I kill it?” Dean asked.

 

Cas shot him an apologetic look. “I don’t think you’re strong enough, no.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Dean said, pulling his scythe off his belt and walking through the window of the store. He passed through it like a ghost, which made Charlie let out a startled gasp, but Sam thought he understood. Dean was Death, and Death was everything and nothing at the same time. He probably could manifest ghost traits as well as angel and demon traits.

 

“Dean,” Cas said, but he was already gone. There was a woman standing near the window who shrieked when Dean walked through it, but he didn’t seem to notice. Cas turned to Sam. “Get everyone out. Dean and I will keep Phobos busy.”

 

“Then what?” Sam wondered. “Can we trap him somehow?”

 

Cas shook his head, and almost shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never encountered Phobos before. I didn’t even know he was still alive.”

 

Sam gave Charlie a handgun with silver bullets. “We’re not fighting this thing?”

 

Cas grimaced. “It’s a god. It could destroy you.”

 

“Yikes,” Charlie said, tucking her gun in her pants. “I’ve already had enough of that, thank you very much.”

 

“I’ll defend someone if I have to,” Jody said, holding the shotgun downward, but in a ready stance. She’d barely have to move to swing it into firing position. That alone told you she was a pro.

 

“The closer you get to it, the more you will be overcome with feelings and hallucinations of fear,” Cas told them. “Try to remember they’re not real. And if he looks your way, run.” With that wonderfully ominous statement, Cas disappeared in a ruffle of wings. Inside the store, there was a hugely explosive bang that made the three of them flinch. It was easy to guess Dean had already engaged Phobos. It was funny how quickly those doubts it was really Dean in there disappeared.

 

Sam grabbed a gun for himself, and took out his secret weapon: the angel sword. It probably wouldn’t be more effective than angel blades against a god, but it was worth a shot. “Jody, you go left, Charlie, take the right, I’ll head for the center. No heroes. Leave the fighting to Dean and Cas, and if it gets too much, head outside.”

 

Jody nodded, her lips drawn to a thin, determined line, and Charlie nodded, eyes flicking nervously towards the store. Sam was suddenly, painfully aware he was leading two relative rookies into quasi-battle with a god. He should really not be doing this.

 

He had no other choice. He just had to hope he could keep everyone alive.

 

Sam headed into the store, barely ahead of Jody, who put her head down and forged ahead, grasping her shotgun like a lifeline. “Police!” She shouted. “Evacuate this store immediately!”

 

Charlie broke right, trying to move with stealth, and Sam found himself walking past a dead body, its skull caved in, beneath a check out counter. There was so much screaming and crying he couldn’t even guess how many people were in here. At least a dozen, probably two dozen at a guess, with a handful of others scattered about.

 

“Fancy seeing you here, Sam,” Lucifer said. He was leaning against a candy rack, opening a box of Red Hots.

 

Sam closed his eyes and told himself he wasn’t real. This was just Phobos, getting to him.

 

“Isn’t it hysterical?” Lucifer continued. “The old Gods specialized so. I mean, it could have been worse. It could have been Cthulhu.” Lucifer snorted a laugh. “That guy smells like a rotted whale. It’s disgusting.”

 

“You’re not here,” Sam muttered, gripping the angel sword tight. The sword was real, he could feel it. Lucifer was a hallucination, nothing more.

 

When Sam opened his eyes, Lucifer was standing right in front of him. “So, you finally killed your brother, Sammy. Good job.”

 

Sam slashed the angel sword through Lucifer, who didn’t react at all. “Seriously? You think that has enough mojo to hurt me? You don’t learn at all, do you?”

 

Sam clenched his jaw until he sent a sharp pain through his grinding teeth. Pain still helped him focus on the here and now. He looked past Lucifer to see someone curled up on the floor, sobbing. Sam crouched down and put a hand on their arm, making them start. “Go,” Sam ordered. “Get the hell out of here.”

 

Dean came flying out of nowhere and collided with aisle shelving so hard the whole thing collapsed with a thud that shook the floor. But Dean just snarled and was back on his feet in no time. “Oh, you son of a bitch,” he said, running back into the fight, scythe clenched in his fist. As far as Sam could tell, Phobos was somewhere in the middle of the store, which was probably where the largest concentration of people was. He probably gravitated towards food.

 

“You know he died to save you, right?” Lucifer continued. He was dogging him, refusing to go away. “For what? Second time, third time? Only this time, there’s no backsies, is there? He’s damned to the slow motion death of immortality. He will never settle down and have a family. He will never escape a Hunter’s life. All he does now is hunt, twenty four – seven. And you sit on your ass feeling sorry for yourself.” Lucifer cackled. “You’re both in Hell. You’ve both lost.”

 

“Shut up,” Sam said, looking around for more people. He heard gunshots somewhere in the store, and he hoped if Jody was shooting at anything, it was a hallucination.

 

The store’s tile was melting away, being replaced with a thick, tarry substance that made walking difficult. Sam still found two people and bodily shoved them towards the front of the store, hoping they’d take the hint. But the air was filling with swarms of insects, mainly wasps and hornets, and maybe because Sam would have welcomed the cleansing sting of pain, they left him alone.

 

Lucifer was his walking, talking shadow, and he wouldn’t leave him alone. “You like to think you’re all better now, Sam, that you’re past it. But you know I branded your soul. You can still feel it, can’t you? A part of me will always exist in you. And, did you know? When you die, you’ll be joining me back in the cage. We’re connected, now and forever. I rode you to Hell, and I will ride you once more.”

 

Sam used the angel sword to slash his palm open, and dug his thumb in the cut. The pain was so intense he had to swallow a yelp. It looked like half the store was on fire. Flames licked up to the ceiling, and black smoke was joining the insects, making the air toxic. But for some reason, the fire suppression system hadn’t come on.

 

There was a flash of light so bright Sam feared he was blinded for a moment. But in that cleansing flash of light, he saw no flames, no tar, no insects. All fears, all alive and running rampant the closer he got to Phobos.

 

A hand came through the floor and grabbed Sam’s leg, making him trip. He landed on his hands and knees, and he was up to his wrists in snakes and cockroaches, slithering under his clothes and pinning him down. A cockroach even burrowed its way into the cut in his palm, and he could feel it digging under his skin. “No!” Sam shouted, eyes closed, fingers digging into the cut. This was not real. All of this was bullshit. He had to keep that in mind, he had –

 

\- he could feel the cockroach climbing a vein inside his arm –

 

This was all fear. This wasn’t real.

 

Lucifer put an arm around his shoulders. “Oh Sammy,” he purred in his ear. “The fantasy was the idea you ever got out of the cage. You know that, don’t you?”

 

Sam screamed as he felt hellfire burning his skin away, and boiling sulfur filling his lungs.

 

**

 

Dean saw Phobos as two different things concurrently, and if what Cas told him was true, they were both accurate. On the right, he saw Phobos as a waxy, skeletal nightmare figure straight out of a disturbed kid’s drawing of the Slender Man. On the left, he saw Phobos as a concentrated, condensed ball of swirling black energy that he could somehow feel from a distance. He thought he could taste something too, like burnt aluminum and salt. One was how Phobos presented himself; one was how he really was. It was just like if he caught Cas in the corner of his eye, he could see the Jimmy guise, and this coruscating blur of opalescent energy that must have been his true angel form. Dean wondered what his true form was now, and then decided he was never going to think about it again. He was himself, and that was it. He could live with the lie.

 

Dean ran up to Phobos and swung the scythe down in an arc which should have bisected him straight down the middle, and did, but Phobos seemed perfectly unaffected by it. His fist came up, and the punch hit Dean like a freight train. He was sent flying, until he collided with something hard and heavy.

 

Dean could actually feel pain, which was bizarre. He hadn’t truly felt physical pain since he’d gone through Ascension, and felt all the pain in the goddamned universe. It should have been shocking, but Dean found it weirdly motivating. “Oh you son of a bitch,” he said, running back for Phobos, scythe gripped in his hand. He thought he’d lost it, but it usually appeared in his hand again in spite of that. It was like a mystical boomerang, and he really appreciated that. He could have used something like that when he was alive.

 

Cas appeared in front of Phobos, and said, “Your time on this Earth has passed. You are no longer wanted here.”

 

Phobos made a noise that sounded like pebbles falling down a drainpipe. “As if I care what you want, you little pest.” He waved a hand and it was Cas’s turn to go flying, this time punching a hole through one row of shelves before toppling another.

 

Dean jumped on Phobos’s back and drove the scythe right through the top of his long, skeletal head. Phobos just tossed him over his shoulder, as easy as if he were an empty backpack. “What is wrong with you?” Phobos asked. He didn’t have eyes, just empty sockets, but Dean could see the dark energy hovering inside them. “We used to be a team.”

 

Death used to team up with Phobos and War? Oh, now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Death and war often resulted from overwhelming fear. “Yeah, well, I fucking hate gods,” Dean said, swinging the scythe and bisecting his midsection.

 

Phobos hardly noticed, but then Cas let out a flare of angelic light, and Phobos staggered backwards. Even Dean had to blink afterimages away, and he technically didn’t have eyes. But he took advantage of the weakness. He jumped up to his feet, and sliced through Phobos’s neck while kicking him in his long, narrow midsection. He made contact, but it seemed to have negligible effect. Still, Phobos stared at him, in what Dean interpreted as shock. “Are you actually trying to fight me? Are you insane?”

 

Dean shrugged. “Probably.” He then slashed Phobos across the face.

 

Phobos sent him flying, a bit farther this time. He smashed through two shelving units before finally hitting the third and collapsing with it. Now that this didn’t hurt that much, it was kind of fun.

 

But he was hearing some familiar screaming, and he stood up and looked around. Eventually he came to an aisle where Sam was on the floor, curled up in a ball and screaming his head off. “Sam,” Dean said, moving to his brother. There was blood, which was disturbing, but he was in a couple of feet of him when he realized it was only coming from his hand. He’d slashed his palm open. That combined with the horrible screaming told him he was hallucinating about Lucifer again. “Oh Sammy. Can you hear me? You’re safe, it’s not real.”

 

Nope. Sam couldn’t hear him. He wanted to grab him and shake him, but he wasn’t sure that was safe. Cas had warned him that, if he wasn’t careful, he might accidentally kill someone he touched. Under normal circumstances, he didn’t need to punch shit. One tap and they were done. Clearly it was different with gods.

 

He now noticed, on the floor beside Sam, was the angel sword he gave Claire. He had no idea why Sam had it, but he was glad to see it. Would this do something to Phobos? No better time to find out.

 

He grabbed the sword, and gave it one last try. “Sam! Sam, can you hear me?”

 

There was no change at all. He was locked off in his own world of pain. Son of a bitch, this fucking god needed to die.

 

By the time he got back, Cas was the one on the floor, and Phobos was on the move. He helped Cas up, and Cas saw he had the sword. “Where did you get that?”

 

“Sam had it. Will it kill him?”

 

Cas looked between the sword and the back of Phobos. “I don’t know. We may need more firepower.”

 

“If we work together, can we do it?”

 

Cas stared at him like he was crazy. “Kill a god? Dean, that’s –“

 

“Yes or no? Cas, people are dying in here.” He could sense it, right along with the energy Phobos was feeding on. He couldn’t identify it, but he could feel it all the same.

 

The background was a hellish chorus of screaming. It wasn’t only Sam stuck in his own personal nightmare. Cas glanced around like he could see every suffering person – maybe he could – and Dean could see the tension play across his face. He wanted to, and knew he shouldn’t. Not for the first time, Dean got a sense he was leading Cas straight to hell. He was the worst influence for a generally good hearted angel. “Possibly. But Dean, this will be a grave act.”

 

“And releasing Phobos wasn’t?”

 

Cas tilted his head in a half nod. “Good point. Okay, we’ll have to attack him together. You keep the sword. Aim for where his heart might be if he had one. And don’t hold back.”

 

Dean nodded, and as Cas disappeared, so did he.

 

One of those weird things you learned as soon as you were an angel - space was easy to compress, fold, bend. One step and they were both occupying roughly the same space as Phobos, although Cas was in front of him and Dean appeared about two feet behind him. Phobos knew they were coming – of course he did, he was a god, a higher order of being – and he made a noise best described as a tongue click. “You parasites are insane. You think you’re a match for me?”

 

Dean got a sense of the energy coming for him before it hit, and folded space, appearing right beside Phobos, scythe in mid-swing. He unleashed the dark river of power inside him, what he thought of as death energy, and channeled it through the scythe.

 

It lodged in Phobos’s throat, and he actually hissed as the black energy of him seemed to contract, as if in pain. But Dean had no time to enjoy the hit, as Phobos somehow had him by the throat and he could actually feel the squeezing pressure of the grip. He was a god, and outclassed him by just about every measure. “You stupid, arrogant creature,” Phobos snapped. “You call yourself Death? You’re an abomination.” Dean tried to wrench himself free, but he could actually feel genuine pain, for the first time since the Ascension. It was raw and terrible, burning through whatever was left of his soul. If he even had any left.

 

Cas lunged, stabbing his archangel blade right in the center of Phobos’s forehead, driving it deep and pumping angel energy straight through the knife. He could see the bright energy invade the dark energy that was Phobos, and it twisted and writhed in agony. Dean, still keeping a hold of his scythe, drove the angel sword straight through his chest, and tried to channel energy through both blades, even though it felt like he was stretching himself too thin, pulling theoretical skin until it tore and shredded like crepe paper. The sword and the blade made a kind of energy feedback loop inside Phobos. Dean could feel some of that energy traveling up the sword’s hilt, burning into him.

 

There was a moment of pressure, of pain, and suddenly it felt like the universe itself tore, and an explosive shockwave sent him and Cas flying in opposite directions, as a guttural scream shattered glass and shook the Earth for a couple of terrible seconds. But after Dean hit the floor and slid along it for a few seconds, the screaming stopped, and there was blissful silence. Dean still felt a hollow ache in him, like a bruise, but it wasn’t so bad, considering.

 

“What in the holy motherfucking god was that?” a female voice exclaimed. He recognized the voice as belonging to Jody.

 

Dean actually felt mildly dizzy, but climbed to his feet. “That was killing a god.” He’d felt Phobos die. And he’d never admit to anyone – well, maybe Cas – but it was a rush. He could feel all that energy released and pouring back into the void.

 

“You did what?” Charlie exclaimed. She sounded farther off to the side of the store.

 

Dean walked back to Sam, to see if he was okay, and when he got there, he found Cas was already there. Sam was slumped back against a shelf, and Cas held Sam’s head in his hands, healing damage that was more psychic than physical. Sam’s eyes finally focused on the outside world, and he first glanced from Cas to Dean, and his eyes grew wide. “Dean, what did you do?”

 

So he felt the shockwave even in his nightmare. The few people who were still in the store and still alive started looking around tentatively, as if afraid it was all going to go south again really fast.

 

Cas let Sam go, and sighed. He seemed like a man resigned to a terrible fate. “We’ve declared war on War. And possibly the gods.”

 

When he put it that way, it sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.


	5. Death After Life

 

_**5 – Death After Life** _

 

“No! There’s no fucking way!” War snapped, throwing over the table. It splintered when it hit the floor.

 

Outside the war raged on. It was so nice in the world today. There were so many wars and skirmishes and unrest and “actions”. He could take his pick of hiding places and did, because why limit yourself to one thing when there was such a plethora of misery? Currently he was in Syria, enjoying the atrocities. Tomorrow he might be back in Darfur, although Iraq was tempting too. The angels would never find him, because there were too many places to check.

 

His current demon aide-de-camp, called Bruno, cringed at his rage. “We have confirmed it. Phobos is dead.”

 

“How is that possible?” His fury spiked, and he heard automatic weapons fire outside. Currently he was in a bombed out school, and enjoyed the dichotomy of crayon drawings hanging on walls that had mortar damage to them. “He is a god!”

 

“From what we understand, he was attacked by an Archangel and Death.”

 

War clenched his fists, and heard a rocket impact somewhere further down the road. “How were they strong enough?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

War looked around for something to hit. He settled on punching a hole in what was left of the wall, as an RPG went off on the neighboring street. Phobos was part of the plan. “Has that bitch said yes to the angel yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Hurry it up!”

 

The demon shrugged with his hands. “How?”

 

War fumed, and with no outlet for his rage it was extra infuriating. He needed to go blow something up.

 

And then he needed to kill that fucking Archangel.

 

**

 

Sam was sort of glad Dean and Cas came back with them to the Bunker, if only because it kept the rest of them from discussing what they saw. Jody and Charlie both got overwhelmed by fear too, and they were all kind of awkward about it, but since Dean and Cas were unaffected, there was no point in talking about it around them, right? So they were all given a pass.

 

Dean was clearly psyched about killing a god, but Cas was less enthused. “I may actually be demoted,” he said.

 

“Why? You’d never turn on God,” Dean replied. “But me? Hope he’s watching his back.”

 

Cas frowned. “Hey. Don’t even joke.”

 

Dean in cocky mode was a lot to take sometimes. Sam knew the best thing was to give him a beer and let him gloat for a bit. It wore off. But giving him a beer now wouldn’t help matters, as alcohol didn’t affect him anymore. Oh shit, he wouldn’t gloat forever, would he? He’d be insufferable.

 

But it only ended up lasting about ten minutes. Dean was walking around the place while the rest of them were trying to figure out what War’s next move might be. Finding a pattern to his behavior was trying at the very least, and they were no closer to finding him or Claire. Sam was using his laptop to page through the archives, and pretend he was okay. Cas settled him down, made him felt like his mind hadn’t broken into a million pieces again, and he could actually look back on his Lucifer hallucination like it was a dream he’d mostly forgotten. (Although Lucifer was right about almost everything. Except Cthulhu. Sam was pretty sure that was fiction, and if it wasn’t, holy shit were they in trouble.)

 

But out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Dean … flicker. Or at least go partially translucent. He stopped pacing, hand to his chest. “Well, that was weird.”

 

Cas seemed mildly concerned. “Are you hurt?”

 

Dean held his arms out, still cocky. “Who could hurt Death?”

 

“You,” Sam pointed out.

 

Dean shrugged.

 

“Did you feel anything when we killed Phobos?” Cas asked.

 

Dean tilted his head in a way that let Sam know that yes, he was hurt, and he was going to attempt to bluster his way through it. “A little. Now it feels like I have a bruise on my chest. Except I have no chest. God, that’s weird.”

 

“Maybe you should take a break,” Cas suggested. “A God can hurt Death. A God could’ve hurt all of us.”

 

Dean waved his hand dismissively. “We dusted his ass. I’m fine.”

 

“You can feel something corporeal when you’re non-corporeal,” Cas said. “That’s one of the definitions of not fine. Go back up, recharge, you should be okay. I’ll summon you when we need you.”

 

Dean looked like he was going to protest, but Sam gave him a little nod, tacitly giving him the okay. Dean gave him a nod back, and disappeared in a ruffle of wings.

 

Charlie shuddered. “Is it me, or is it like kinda cold when he’s around?”

 

“He is Death,” Cas said. “It can be difficult to ignore.”

 

“He will be okay, right?” Sam asked. “He isn’t badly hurt?”

 

Cas shook his head. “He’ll be fine. It’s just he’s a little … new to be reaping a God. He should not have even tried.”

 

“I for one am glad he did,” Jody said. She had a beer, and looked tired. Whatever she had seen in that store, it had worn her out. “That was one ugly bastard.”

 

“You saw it?” Even Sam hadn’t seen it.

 

“I think so. I caught a reflection. It was a horned guy in a robe, right?”

 

Cas shook his head. “No. That was probably a hallucination.”

 

Charlie scooted her chair closer to Cas. Everyone pretended not to notice.

 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked Cas.

 

He nodded. “Dean was … reckless. He was more eager to physically engage with Phobos.”

 

Sam sighed. “That’s him all right.”

 

“I don’t understand how War can be hiding from me,” Cas said. It seemed like a topic shift, but not really. It was why they were all here.

 

“Maybe he’s hiding in a war zone,” Charlie said. They all looked at her. “What, too obvious?”

 

“No, that’s probably where he is,” Cas said. “But there’s too many of them. The world isn’t short on war, and there’s omens in every place.”

 

He was right. The Earth was currently serving a buffet of war and war like things, and war specific omens were heavy on the ground in all the regions. In essence, it was all too fucked up to work out what was plain old Earthly fucked up and what was supernatural fucked up. War was no idiot.

 

“If Phobos was working with him,” Cas suggested. “Maybe others are too.”

 

Sam glanced up from his screen. “Maybe Famine?”

 

Cas nodded. “It’s a good bet. Pestilence was working with him. And they’re not happy about Dean taking Death’s place.”

 

“Wait,” Jody said, sitting forward. “I thought this was about Claire. This is about Dean now?”

 

“It may be one and the same,” Cas said. “They may blame me for his Ascension.”

 

“So she was taken as vengeance? Leverage?” Jody wondered. “Why would War take her, but attack Sam and Charlie?”

 

“Because Pestilence was a moron,” Sam said. “Attacking us was the best way to make Dean angry, and put an end to everything.”

 

Cas rubbed his forehead, and looked briefly pained. Sam didn’t think it was physical. “Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way.”

 

“How so?” Sam asked.

 

“War can’t kill Death, and neither can Famine. They’ll have to contract it out if they want it done.”

 

“Not if they get the Dagger,” Sam said, settling into the debate. This felt like a puzzle he could crack, if he just put his mind to it.

 

Cas shook his head. “It’s not enough. If Death dies, it will default to Heaven, and I’m not sure that’s what they want.”

 

“So Hell’s in on this. Crowley’s up to something.”

 

“I don’t know. Even they don’t have someone capable of killing Death. Crowley couldn’t do it.”

 

Jody looked confused, which meant she looked irritated. “So what does this mean? There’s an inside man? Someone in Heaven in on all of this?”

 

Cas and Sam shared a terrible, knowing look. Yes, that was it, wasn’t it?

 

“Wait, what?” Charlie asked. “They just installed Dean as Death. They’re already trying to replace him?”

 

“No. Not everyone in Heaven is happy with a Human being Ascended. If they found an angel powerful enough, and unhappy enough, they might cut a deal.”

 

“Could they take over as Death?” Sam asked.

 

Cas had to think about it a moment. “It would complicated, but yes.”

 

Jody tapped her fingers on the table. “Okay, I’m not quite following all this Heaven and Hell bull hockey, but motives are usually pretty simple. If Dean is replaced as Death, who benefits? We assume War benefits if he replaces him? How? Is it just a vengeance thing?”

 

Sam considered this carefully. There were probably a couple of different answers, they just had to narrow it down with the limited facts they had.

 

Cas suddenly jumped to his feet. “No wonder I can’t find Claire. I’ve been looking in the wrong place.” And then he disappeared in a ruffle of wings.

 

Jody shook her head, frowning. “I’m never gonna get used to people disappearing like that.”

 

Sam almost pointed out he wasn’t technically people, but decided not to. Didn’t matter. “No matter what happens, I think we need to get ready.”

 

Charlie looked at him curiously. “Ready for what?”

 

“War. If all else fails, War will be coming after us. We were on the scene when Phobos fell, and we know Cas and Dean. We have a couple different targets on our back.”

 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Going to war against War? That sounds … tricky.”

 

Sam shrugged. “It won’t be easy. But I have some ideas.”

 

All his research had to be good for something, right? Now it was time to pay off.

 

**

 

Claire was sitting on the stairs, winding a strand of her hair around her finger, a nervous habit she was sure she gave up when she was ten. But it was kind of hard not to fall into various old habits, considering everything going on.

 

She knew she could probably interact with the environment more, maybe even catch up on Hannibal while she waited for fuckhead to get back, but she decided that maybe watching something about a psycho killer while waiting for a potential psycho killer to get back was not a good way to go. She should just watch cartoons.

 

She’d tried to leave several times, but there was no way out of here. Now that she was trapped inside it, she didn’t miss her old house anymore. Her phone was useless, which was probably why psycho angel left it with her. She found some knickknacks she could probably use as weapons, but that was stupid. Like a candlestick would do dick against an angel. She might as well just slap him.

 

She was wondering if she could break a leg off the coffee table when her mother reappeared again, this time in the kitchen archway. “Have you made your decision, Claire?”

 

She grimaced. Like this jerkwad actually cared about her feelings. “I would give just about anything to go back in time and stop my father from accepting Castiel. Even if it meant dooming myself as an angel vessel for someone like you.”

 

Her mother smiled. “You’ve made a wise choice.”

 

“But,” she said, raising her voice for emphasis. “I have one problem.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“You’re a lying douchenozzle. Also, you and that guy who smelled like blood kidnapped me, and call me crazy, but if you were at all genuine, you wouldn’t have had to do something like that. Who was that blood guy anyway? What does he have to do with any of this?”

 

Her mother/Hezekiah shook her head. “We had to get you away from Castiel –“

 

“Considering he’s been leaving me alone, at my request, I call bullshit. You’d only have to get me away from him if you were up to no good. So fuck you, and fuck your offer. I do not accept. Now let me go.”

 

She watched Hezekiah’s face twist in rage. He got it under control, but not fast enough. She saw it. “You have a destiny, Claire –“

 

“Oh, sure. I’m the Chosen One, right?” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Only if my destiny is to be haunted by asshats like you. We’re done here.” She stood, and headed for the front door.

 

Hezekiah suddenly appeared in front of her, giving her her mom’s best disappointed look. “Claire, honey, you’ve got this all wrong.”

 

“Don’t call me honey,” she snapped, taking a step back. This was in the valley between annoying and creepy, and edging towards creepy. “And stop wearing my mom’s face. I’m not seven anymore. No more angel crap, all right? I’m done. My dad didn’t want this for me. Now that I have that memory, do you really think I’m just gonna ignore it? How much of an asshole do you think I am?”

 

Now her mother’s face was dominated by a rictus of rage. It was so awful and ugly, Claire took another couple of steps back. “You pathetic little meat suit. Do you think you can just walk away? You will say yes.”

 

“No I won’t.”

 

“I’ll make you.”

 

A cold shock went through her, and she backed up another step. That coffee table idea no longer sounded so bad. “Angels can’t do that.”

 

“We can’t take you by force. But no one said we couldn’t use some methods of coercion.” Hezekiah smiled, and it made her skin crawl.

 

“I should have guessed it was you.” Castiel said.

 

Claire turned, and Cas was just behind her. She had never been so happy to see him in all of her life. “Where the hell have you been?” she asked, ducking behind him. Yeah, it was cowardly, but Hezekiah was clearly a bucket full of crazy, which made him Castiel’s problem.

 

Cas cast a look at her over his shoulder, but otherwise didn’t comment. “I was looking on Earth for you.”

 

For some reason, Claire found that surprising. “I’m not on Earth? Where am I?”

 

“You should be dead,” Hezekiah said to Cas. “Or in prison. Not Ascended. How did you get to be the favorite, you faithless, worthless Human lover?”

 

“I don’t know. But do you really want to be remembered as a traitor?”

 

“I don’t care. It should have been me, not you.” Hezekiah pulled an angel blade seemingly out of nowhere and lunged at Castiel. Cas grabbed his arm and Claire darted back towards the kitchen. This wasn’t Earth? Well, maybe that explained why she couldn’t leave.

 

Suddenly there were two people in the kitchen, a man and a woman in business suits, and she realized Hezekiah had helpers. Angel helpers. Fuck. They started approaching her, as she started backing towards the living room. It sounded like Cas and Hezekiah were punching each other around, and a glance told her it was a good thing none of this furniture was real. Hezekiah managed to throw Cas right through the stair railing, but Cas had ripped the angel blade out of his hand, and it went skittering across the floor. She tried to follow it with her eyes, but lost it near the couch. It had to be on the other side, right?

 

She jumped on the sofa and tried to scramble over to the other end, but hands suddenly grabbed her and pulled her back. She tried to hold on, but goddamn it, angels were crazy strong.

 

“Hey!” Dean suddenly shouted. “Leave the girl alone!”

 

The three of them looked, just in time to see Dean stab the male angel right through the head with an angel blade. The female angel backhanded Dean across the face, sending him flying, as the male angel just seemed to wink out of existence.

 

Claire continued her scramble to the lost angel blade, while the female angel went after Dean. “You filthy abomination,” she was saying. “You have no power over us.”

 

“Technically, no,” Dean admitted, standing up. He had a split lip, but … unless Claire was seeing things, which was possible, Dean’s blood looked black. He raised his fist, which had an angel blade in it. “But I can still send you off to the cornfield for a while. I’ll settle for that.”

 

The female angel pushed against the air with her hand, and somehow put Dean straight through the wall.

 

Claire found the fallen blade just wedged under the sofa, and when she picked it up, it felt cold. She now expected everything to be poorly made and not quite solid, like this was all a dream or something. She sat where she was for a moment, trying to make sense of any of this.

 

The female angel came after her, but Dean came rushing through the hole he left in the wall and caught her in a full body tackle. They both went down on the coffee table, which shattered into a billion pieces, and exchanged punches. It was hard to say who had the upper hand, as it seemed to keep shifting.

 

If this wasn’t Earth, why and how was Dean here? Did he really have black blood? What was that about? Was he just another angel adopting his face for some reason? God, none of this made sense. She kept hoping Sam would come in, ‘cause she could easily hide behind his huge frame, but she hadn’t seen him yet.

 

The female angel was suddenly there, grabbing her arm, and Claire just lashed out, burying the angel blade in her forearm. She let out a shriek and backhanded Claire across the face, which hurt like fuck. It was like being slammed with a cinder block. She hit the floor, and her consciousness briefly reeled, although she tried desperately to hold on. She tasted blood, and was pretty sure she lost a tooth.

 

From where she was on the carpet, she saw Dean plunge a second blade right through the angel’s chest, and angel witch disappeared just like the man before her. Dean still had a thin trickle of black blood running down his chin. “You okay?”

 

Claire wanted to nod, but her head really hurt, so she didn’t. How was his whole face not collapsed in from that beating? One hit, and Claire was pretty sure she had a skull fracture. “I dunno.”

 

Hezekiah threw Castiel into and through the bookcase, and Claire was aware, for a single second, how funny it was to see her mom throwing her dad around like a rag doll. Except it wasn’t really her mom or dad in either case. This was never not going to be weird.

 

Dean threw his angel blade like a spear, which nailed Hezekiah straight in the back, right between the shoulder blades. He stopped and turned to look at him with a snarl. “Do you really think you can hurt me, you ex-Human garbage?”

 

Dean shrugged. The black blood dripping from his face was no bother to him at all. “Nope. But he can.”

 

Castiel was right in front of Hezekiah now, and he had his own angel blade, but it looked bigger and fancier than the other angel blades. And as Hezekiah looked back at Castiel, Cas plunged it deep into his chest.

 

There was a horrible, ear piercing scream, followed by a flash of light so bright Claire closed her eyes, but still saw it through her eyelids. She worried for a second she was blind, but after a few seconds of blinking, she started seeing things again.

 

“We pissed a whole lotta people off,” Dean said.

 

“Perhaps, but this reaction is insane.” Cas came over and knelt beside her. He put a hand on her head, and two things happened simultaneously. One, her head stopped hurting, and two, they were suddenly in a place she vaguely recognized. This was … what did they call it? The Bunker, right?

 

“Oh my god, Claire,” Jody said, and she heard the scraping of a chair on the floor. She approached from the side. They were near the front, by the huge table. There was Sam, and a woman Claire didn’t recognize.

 

Jody crouched beside her. “Are you all right?”

 

Claire nodded, still wondering how the landscape had changed so fast. Where was Dean? “Yeah. Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

 

Jody looked at Sam, who had just gotten to his feet. “Uh, War has declared war on us. And we on him.”

 

“What?” How did that make sense? Did she still have a head injury?

 

Cas and Jody helped her to her feet, but once she was standing she drew her arms away and stepped back into her own space. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the parental concern on some level, but she was fine. Confused as fuck, but fine. She was pretty sure her tooth was back.

 

Suddenly Dean appeared on the far side of the room, like the film of her life had suddenly hit a jump cut. Where had he come from? He stumbled slightly, put his hand on the wall. “Son of a bitch,” he cursed. “Why did that happen?”

 

Sam stared at him in surprise. “How the hell are you bleeding?”

 

“He fought angels,” Cas said, and cast a surprisingly scolding look in Dean’s direction. It was a trippy moment of déjà vu, because her dad had genuinely given her that look once. “He fought angels while still injured from the battle with Phobos. You are not one hundred percent. You can still be hurt.”

 

Dean wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and met Cas’s stern gaze with one of his own. “And let you fight them off alone? No way, Cas.”

 

The woman Claire didn’t know, a redhead, said, “Is there anything we can do to help? Does Death need a beer or something?”

 

“Ooh, yeah,” Dean said. “Did somebody order pizza?”

 

Cas shook his head. “He needs rest.”

 

“Death don’t sleep,” Dean insisted.

 

Claire couldn’t put up with this any longer. “What the hell are you people talking about? Why is he bleeding black blood, and why are you talking about Death and War like they’re people instead of things?”

 

“Oh crap,” Jody said, rubbing her forehead. “Darling, we have a lot to catch you up on. Although I can’t answer the black blood question.”

 

“It’s representational of the void.” Cas said.

 

Even Jody stared at him with deep confusion. She didn’t understand that explanation either.

 

Suddenly the ground seemed to jump, tremble like a beast trying to shake them off their back, and she, Cas, and Jody each grabbed on to each other to keep their balance. Sam and the redhead grabbed the table, while Dean seemed almost completely unperturbed by it.

 

“Was that an earthquake?” Jody asked.

 

The redhead looked at her computer, and said, “I think it was a meteorite strike.”

 

“Here, now?” Jody asked, beating Claire to the punch.

 

“It’s an omen of War,” Sam said. “He’s coming.”

 

“Good,” Dean said. “I haven’t had a chance to kill him yet.”

 

Claire wondered when any of this would start making sense.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Cattle and The Creeping Things

****

 

**_6 – Cattle and The Creeping Things_ **

 

 

At least War’s showy calling card gave them time to prepare. Not a lot, but hopefully enough.

 

Sam did not just want to leave this fight to Cas and Dean, especially since Dean was stretching himself so thin (not that Dean would admit that – he’d pass out first. If Death passed out, which he honestly didn’t know). Besides, there was no telling who War was bringing with him, or how many, and if Famine was with him, that was an extra complication. War was relatively easy to deal with in comparison to the chaos Famine could wreck. On top of that, there was almost nothing about combating Famine in the archives, and Sam had no ideas. It was probably best to leave him to Cas and Dean.

 

There wasn’t much that could hurt War, or hold it back, but he found something interesting in the archives that might be helpful. Sam busted out the weapons, and then there was some discussion about what to do with Claire. Cas wanted to get her out, but she said no, and Jody all but insisted, which made it slightly worse. If Sam knew anything from Dean, it was insisting a teenager not do something made them want to do it more. (Not that Sam was immune to that, but he liked to think he wasn’t quite the butthead Dean was about these things.) In the end, it was easier to give her a weapon and tell her to hang back and try not to get involved.

 

Jody wanted something to shoot, which would make things infinitely easier, but choice was limited. Sam hastily doused some bullets in lavender and chamomile oil. It was just a guess, but he hoped it would work. If it didn’t, it probably wouldn’t hurt either. Everybody got guns with the infused bullets, except for Cas and Dean, who were their own weapons. Sam infused a few knives for good measure, and in the end, they smelled like a candle shop.

 

War wouldn’t be coming to the Bunker. He was War, he fought on his own territory, and aimed for maximum casualties. He would fight in town. He would try and use the populace against them. Cas went ahead, to try and save as many people as possible. Dean offered to go with him, but Sam asked Dean to stay, and he did. Cas shot him a quiet “thank you” glance before he disappeared. Dean was still weak, and still wasn’t about to admit it. He never would. That was the pain and beauty of his brother. Stubborn unto death, even as Death.

 

Dean was actually quite giddy at getting to ride in the Impala again. He wanted to drive, but Sam wouldn’t let him, mainly because he wasn’t sure if he should. (Was he corporeal enough? What if he went intangible again?) So he sat in the back with Jody and Claire, who was holding the angel sword like a lifeline. Dean gave her some sword wielding pointers, because of course he would. But once Sam glanced at the rearview mirror, and caught her smiling. Whatever she went through, at least she was recovering. Kids could be wonderfully resilient like that. Also, he suspected Dean was going to be her hero forever. Did this mean she was going to want to be a Hunter now? Oh no.

 

They’d just hit the edge of town when a bright, angelic light suddenly flared. Sam hit the brakes and closed his eyes, but of course it didn’t really block out anything. It just maybe saved his corneas.

 

“Is he dead?” Claire asked, panicked. “Did he kill Castiel?”

 

“No, this is stage one of the plan,” Dean told her. Because it was Dean saying it, she instantly believed him. “He’s spreading peace.”

 

Peace being the opposite of war, it seemed a natural to bring into the fold. Of course, fighting was the opposite of peace, so incorporating it was difficult. Cas had the idea of just saturating the town with peace and love, which sounded impossible, but not for an Archangel like Cas. Especially since he seemed to pump out peace as a general side effect now. How long it would last in the face of War was up for grabs. It was possible they’d only get five minutes before the general population started killing each other, but at least that was a five minute head start. If Sam had learned anything over all these years of hunting, it was sometimes you had to take whatever crumbs of luck you could get. It was never going to perfect; you were just going to have to improvise with whatever you could find at the given time.

 

And hey, how bad could it be? At least he knew he had Death on his side this time.

 

They abandoned the car and went in on foot at this point. Dean didn’t have to join them in this, he could have just zapped there, but he did. Sam got the sense he was enjoying this, going back into the battle on foot again, just like he was still Human. And Claire was right beside him, holding her angel sword aloft, grimly determined. He hoped Dean kept an eye on her, or Jody, because Claire was honestly too green for this. He didn’t feel good having her here, but the only way he could have had her stay at the Bunker was if he knocked her out and tied her to a chair. Jody probably would have been okay with that, but Cas wasn’t down for it.

 

When they hit the main thoroughfare, they found a dozen bodies splayed out on the street. “Demon vessels,” Dean said, when Jody checked the nearest girl for a pulse. Cas must have expelled them; the people looked to be still alive, just passed out. If they were dead, Dean would have known.

 

And while Sam wasn’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t psychosomatic, he felt … lighter somehow. More at peace, just happier in general. That was some potent field Cas was putting out.

 

Up the street, a car had stopped in the middle of the intersection, forming a barricade. Surprising no one, War appeared standing on top of it. He was still in the same guise as when he and Dean had encountered him last, in a distinguished man with thinning steel gray hair. His finger had grown back, but his ring was still missing. “What does it to take to permanently kill you son of a bitches?” War asked, staring straight at Sam. He didn’t look around to confirm it, but he had a sense Dean was no longer part of the group. He was probably going to work with surprise. “How in the holy fuck do you have both demons and angels on your shoulders?”

 

Sam shrugged. “Years of sketchy living.”

 

War had quite a few people with him. Demons, some not demons, but they all appeared to have black eyes, because that was his M.O.  War fucked with your reality, so you saw everybody as foe. “I thought the short guy was the comedian.”

 

Short? Oh, Dean was going to make him pay for that. “You know, you can leave. Just leave us and everyone be, and we won’t go after you. You can end it now, and we can all walk away happy.”

 

War nodded. “Uh huh. Did you actually think that had any chance of working?”

 

“Do you really think there’s any chance you’ll come out of this alive if you don’t?” Sam was genuinely curious about this. The last time they crossed paths, War lost, and he and Dean were both Human at the time. How did he think a rematch when one of them was actually Death was going to be a mark in the win column for him?

 

War scowled, and Sam suddenly felt a gnawing ache in his stomach. Here came the desire for demon blood, which he hadn’t thought about in years, as raw and fresh as an open wound. Famine was here, although he wasn’t on the street. Probably hiding in one of the shops that lined the main thoroughfare. Hard to hit a target you couldn’t see. “And you think I’m gonna let your piece of shit brother take my brother’s place? I’ll die first. Or actually, he will.”

 

Gunshots rang out, pinging off the asphalt, and they all scattered, taking cover behind cars. Jody and Charlie ducked behind an SUV on the right side of the street, and he and Claire scrambled behind a pick up on the left side. “Demons can shoot now?” Claire asked.

 

He shrugged. “Any idiot can get a gun. And they might be Humans who think we’re demons.”

 

“We shouldn’t kill them, right?”

 

Oh God. She was going to be a female Dean. Why was he getting all these female Deans in his life? This was a cosmic joke, wasn’t it? “Right. Try to avoid killing them. They may look like demons, but War does that. Unless it’s War himself, don’t go straight for the kill.” He paused briefly. “But don’t go after War, okay?”

 

The halo of peace was starting to wear off. Fights were breaking out between people and War’s entourage … unless they were all just people. He could see them grappling on the sidewalks, throwing each other through windows, basically acting like a Michael Bay film had just broken out, but with less shitty CGI. Sam was looking around for shooters, and had his .45 out, ready to shoot back as soon as he got a bead on someone within range. Jody had broken out her rifle, and with the greater range had already started firing back at snipers in upstairs windows.

 

War had two henchmen who looked bigger than most, musclemen, and Sam got a sense they were either a very specialized type of demon, or it was just more of War’s hallucinations. But one of them, whom he mentally dubbed Thing One, appeared to pick up a Kia and throw it down a crowded sidewalk, knocking people over like bowling pins, creating more chaos. Thing Two seemed to be stalking straight towards Jody and Charlie.

 

Sam came up over the hood of the truck and put a couple of slugs in Thing Two’s back. It paused to look back at him, and that let Charlie and Jody know what was coming towards them. Charlie shot at it with her .45, and Jody let him have it with her shotgun. The bullets had little obvious effect, but at least it gave him something to think about.

 

“I’m dying for cake,” Claire said. “Is that a bakery up there?”

 

“It’s Famine. Do your best to ignore it.” It made him remember the gnawing need in his chest, and he did his best to push it away. (Having those psychic powers was so cool, wasn’t it? If he had them now, he could take out Famine. He did before. It would be so easy. He could probably take out War too.)

 

Basically, they just had to stay alive until Cas returned. Cas was putting everyone in town to sleep, area by area, because if they were out cold, they couldn’t be War fodder. It wouldn’t depower him, but it would back him into a corner.  

 

Sam saw a sniper rifle tumble out of an upstairs window, and saw a man slumped over the sill. Sam was wondering if he caught a stray bullet when he thought he saw the shadow of a skeletal wing behind him. Well, Dean had said some people in town were supposed to die today. Sam hoped that was true.

 

People swarmed from the shops that seemed to be closed, swamping him and Claire almost instantaneously. Sam got off one shot before the gun was ripped from his hand, and he took a couple of punches to the face and stomach. Sam headbutt the guy in front of him, and elbowed a man trying to grab his arm. In slow increments he began to carve out a space for himself, fighting for every inch, but it was a lost cause. There were just too many of them.

 

He got one uppercut in, taking a guy out, but then he was punched in the kidneys, and it was like his legs went numb. As soon as he dropped to his knees, he was dragged off in War’s direction. A couple of them punched him in the face, and kneed him in the back, for no reason but spite. He felt them tie his hands behind his back, and he held his wrists as rigidly apart as possible. It wasn’t his first time on the bondage train. If only he got his jollies from this. He tasted blood, and his left eye was starting to rapidly swell up.

 

Jody and Charlie were still free. They’d moved up the street to take cover between an alleyway wall and an illegally parked car, and were blasting Thing Two with everything they had. It looked like a lost cause. Claire was being held by a group of people, her angel sword taken away.

 

“Come on, Dean,” War shouted, as Sam was thrown down at his feet. “How much do I have to carve off your brother to get you to show your face?” Sam got to his knees, and saw the brass handled dagger before War held it to his throat. The Dagger of Mot, just like he anticipated.

 

They had been looking for a mass slaughter, the five hundred deaths needed to activate the weapon, when it occurred to Sam that if War was bouncing around war zones, he could get all the blood he’d needed in pieces. Nothing about the ritual said the blood had to come from one source, at one time. It was Sam’s guess that War was bathing the knife in blood in scattered increments, so they couldn’t trace him or the knife. It was genius really. It also told them that War was ready to go, and waiting for something else – the something else being Hezekiah. So they’d ruined half his plan. Now they just had to ruin the rest.

 

Cas appeared, and snapped his fingers. All the people who weren’t humungous demon spawn like the Things passed out on the spot, and the craving for demon blood died. But before Cas could do anything else, two other huge demons, who had been hiding in parked cars, lobbed Molotov cocktails at the street. A ring of fire suddenly sprung up around Cas, and he dropped to one knee, as if in pain. “Supercharged holy oil,” War said. He was gloating. “I hear this stuff hurts like a motherfucker. Does it?”

 

Cas didn’t answer, but the way he was grimacing pretty much said it all.

 

“Dean, he’s got the dagger,” Sam shouted.

 

War pressed it so close to his throat he could feel the edge pressing into his skin. The blade seemed hot, like it had been cooking over a fire, confirming War had activated it. “Yeah, Dean, I do,” War shouted. “And I’m going to start flaying your brother with it in five, four –“

 

“Enough,” Dean said, appearing in front of Cas’s ring of fire. Dean was holding his scythe at his side, as if ready to swing down on his ass. “Is this how we’re doing it? The coward’s way?”

 

Claire had retrieved her angel sword, and moved unnoticed to the back of the truck, where Sam had tossed his backpack before all the shit went down. Jody and Charlie had the other pack with them. Sam tilted his hands as low as he could, and he felt the tip of the boot knife hit his fingers.

 

War snickered. “What, like you killed my brother?” He then looked over at Jody and Charlie, and snapped, “How much ammo do you bitches have? Knock it off already! They’re bullet proof.”

 

War and his goons were still ignoring Claire, which was the only positive Sam saw in all of this.

 

Dean then did something that wasn’t part of the plan. He held up his empty hand, and all the goons fell to their knees.

 

“Let them go!” War snapped, holding the knife even tighter to Sam’s throat. He felt the blade splitting his skin.

 

“Let him go!” Dean roared back. “I am Death! You do not dictate to me!”

 

Sam felt blood starting to crawl down his throat. He had also cut through the first part of the rope. “You’re a poncy little asshole who doesn’t belong here! And I am your better!” War held out his free hand, and Dean took a step back, grabbing his head, like he’d had a sudden migraine attack. The goons dropped to the street, still alive, but probably not in the best of moods.

 

“Go back to Hell, you Human garbage,” War said, pulling back the dagger to throw it.

 

Sam jumped up, slamming into War and sending him stumbling backwards. Sam broke the rest of his bonds, and ripped the Dagger of Mot from War’s hands before he could recover. Sam felt the onslaught of War’s power hit him, a dizzying wave of hate and hallucination, but he didn’t have much to do here, just step forward and bury the dagger right in War’s gut. Sam felt something like blood spurt over his hand, and now that he was eye to eye with War, the black eyes were gone, and all he saw were the startled blue eyes of a one time angel, grown corrupted and warped. “You don’t get my brother,” Sam told him.

 

Of course the town was a trap, and of course they were walking right into it. They discussed it before leaving the Bunker. He wanted Dean, and he would use Sam to get him. He’d probably have a way to neutralize Cas, but neutralizing Death was much harder, hence going after him to make Dean submit. But the Dagger of Mot could kill anything. Not just Death. It could kill all the Horsemen.

 

And it just killed War.

 

Sam twisted the dagger before ripping it out of his stomach, and War dropped to the street, dead before he hit the ground. The goons started getting to their feet, and Dean asked, “Where are you going?” He didn’t even do anything, as far as Sam could tell. He just spoke to them, and they all dropped dead on the spot.

 

Claire had already tossed the canteen of water from the backpack on part of the flame circle, freeing Cas. “I’ll take care of Famine.” The archangel said.

 

“No, he’s mine,” Dean said, and disappeared.

 

Jody and Charlie emerged from the alleyway, putting away their own bottles of water. They were back up, in case Claire couldn’t free Cas. Jody swung the rifle over onto her back, and looked around at all the fallen bodies. “They’re not all dead, are they?”

 

“Just War and the demon spawn,” Cas confirmed.

 

There was a ghastly, high pitched shriek that seemed to emanate from the bakery Claire spotted earlier. “And Famine,” Cas added, as Dean stepped out of it, Famine’s head hanging from his free hand.

 

“Anyone for soccer?” Dean asked, dropping the head and kicking it across the street.

 

“Since when do you play soccer?” Sam asked.

 

Dean shrugged. “If it was played with the severed heads of Horsemen, I’d be all for it.”

 

Cas came up to Sam, and with a touch of his hand, made all his wounds heal up. Sam was grateful, because that kidney punch was still hurting like a motherfucker. “You’d think, after all this time, they’d know better than to try and trap us,” Cas said. He wasn’t quite gloating, but almost.

 

Sam shrugged. “We’re just Humans. We’re idiots, remember?”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Dean insisted. “I’m Death. And I’m still an idiot.” He then raised his eyebrows rapidly, a little in joke between them.

 

Sam couldn’t help but smile. “Way to go off script, Olivier.”

 

“Those goons were pissing me off.”

 

“And calling us bitches,” Charlie exclaimed, shaking her head. “More patriarchal bullshit, but from an angel this time. I thought you guys were beyond that.”

 

Cas shrugged. “War was … very much his own creation.”

 

“And the universe doesn’t need any of them?” Sam asked, not for the first time.

 

“No. There’s enough war, famine, and pestilence without them. Their time has passed.”

 

Which was what Sam had been counting on. Although part of him hoped that, by killing the three of them, all those things would go away.

 

He supposed they’d all find out soon enough.


	7. We Are All Ghosts

 

**_7 – We Are All Ghosts_ **

 

 

When Charlie showed Sam the story that ran in the local paper, he couldn’t believe it. It was time to mothball the Impala, wasn’t it?

 

It seemed that a surviving employee of the store attacked by Phobos had seen the car pull up, and recognized it as the one in those Sam and Dean books. And she told the paper Sam and Dean were indeed real, and fought the “death god” who ran rampage in the shop. There were so many errors in the story he had the brief impulse to call them and set the record straight, but got a hold of himself before he completely lost his goddamn mind. The reporter who wrote the article added there was “no conformation” of this, and if that wasn’t a warning flag to retire, Sam didn’t know what else could be. “But you could go public,” Charlie said, mostly kidding. “You could be a nationally renowned monster hunter. Ooh! Tell them you killed War! That’s gotta be good for a reality show, maybe on basic cable.”

 

He mentally filed that away as Charlie having a snarky/cruel streak. He couldn’t think of a worse fate than ending up on a reality show. Okay he could, but it was right up there near the top. He was suddenly glad he’d rented the house under an alias.

 

Sam had a nice talk with Castiel while Dean was recharging. He was holding up his end of the bargain, keeping Dean sane, if not completely safe. He didn’t blame him for Dean’s reckless charging into battles that he maybe wasn’t up for, because that was Dean. The day he stopped doing that was the day he became someone different entirely. Sam also agreed that it was probably for the best that the Dagger of Mot was broken up again, and scattered across the Earth once more. He didn’t want to make it easy for someone to kill Death.

 

He agreed to look in on Claire from time to time, make sure she was okay. She’d already asked Sam about becoming a Hunter, which he just knew was coming. But he saw no harm in giving her some pointers, if only to defend herself. It was clear that being a Novak came with a certain set of dangers, and if she was willing to face them, he wasn’t going to stand in her way. Even if he thought the Hunter lifestyle was dubious at best. If she tried to work this out on her own, she might get hurt.

 

Sam didn’t see Dean again until the next night. He was having a weird dream involving a hurricane and a library – dreams could be so strange – and he was looking out a window wall at the oncoming clouds. They were grey-black and funnel shaped, and bending the trees almost horizontal. It was crazy dangerous to be anywhere near a window, but it was a dream, right? This window probably shouldn’t have been intact.

 

“This never happened,” Dean said. “Or did it while you were at college?”

 

“California isn’t known for hurricanes,” Sam said, turning around. Dean was sitting on a table, flipping through one of the books. It looked like a graphic novel of some sort.

 

“Well, with global warming, anything’s possible,” Dean said. He put down the collection of Sandman, and got off the table. “So, did I miss much?”

 

Sam shrugged. “You may have gotten out of the hunting game at the right time. People have figured out the Edlund books aren’t fiction.”

 

Dean groaned dramatically. “We are never living those down, are we? I mean, in a manner of speaking.”

 

“Well, Cas did say they’d become gospel eventually.”

 

“I was really hoping that was a joke.”

 

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down. “Cas has still not mastered jokes. Give him another century or so.”

 

“I think you’re shooting low,” Dean admitted. “More like four or five.”

 

Sam smirked. “You miss my sense of humor.”

 

“Nope, not at all. If you’re around angels long enough, you begin to realize Cas actually is the funny one. And that’s like cosmic levels of sad.”

 

Weirdly, Sam could kind of see that. “How are you doing?”

 

“All juiced up, ready to go kill some more gods.” Dean gave him a smart ass grin he knew so well.

 

“I don’t seem to have any handy.”

 

“I can wait.” Dean kept smiling. He was in a good mood. But being the last remaining Horseman probably had that effect on you.

 

“Part of me can’t believe our half-assed plan worked.”

 

Dean chuckled. “I can’t believe any of our half assed plans ever worked. We seemed to do best when we barely knew what we’re doing.”

 

“Speak for yourself. All my half-assed plans are meticulous in their half-assery.”

 

“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

 

The library was so dark, it was like they were sitting inside a dirty aquarium. Sam wondered if he could lighten it up, since it was a dream after all, then decided it didn’t matter. They were Winchesters, and they had little black clouds following them everywhere. “Know what Famine said when I found him?” Dean said. “He said ‘I should have known’. Do we count that as confirmation I was always doomed?”

 

“No. Take it as confirmation he always knew he was doomed.”

 

Dean’s smile became slier, sadder. “We’re all just doomed. Full stop.”

 

“Speak for yourself.” Sam picked up the nearest book, and saw it was a book of mythological lore. It seemed grossly unfair this type of stuff followed him into dreamscapes.

 

“Yeah, I thought you were supposed to get a life here.”

 

“I’m working on it. Turns out, when you’ve been hunting most of your life, you need a transition into regular life. Regular life is really weird. Did you know most people can’t knife fight, and also use salt in cooking?”

 

“No. We’ve been living wrong all these years.”

 

“Tell me about it.” The next book Sam picked up was a law textbook. He was pretty sure he’d done too many illegal things to ever think seriously about doing that again. He wanted a simple job that kept him off the trouble radar. He had yet to decide what that was. At least he had a lot of skills to draw upon. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, since I was pretty much sick of your crap by ten, but I kind of miss you.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Why? I’m always here. Somewhere.”

 

“I know. I think I need therapy.”

 

“Dude. If therapists see us, all they’ll see is summer homes and vacations to Grand Cayman for the next fifty years. We’re like walking turkey drumsticks to starving cartoon dogs. Just epically fucked up. There aren’t enough drugs in the world.”

 

Sam chuckled at the image. Yes, he could totally see that. He could also see a therapist walking out when he said “The first time I died …” He glanced at Dean, who looked the same as before, except no more flannel shirts for him. He was just wearing a black t-shirt to go with his long black leather coat and worn jeans. Maybe this was his conception of death attire. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but being Death kind of suits you.”

 

“Holy shit, I know. It’s freaking me out a little. I mean, I remember trying it once and hating it, but … I don’t know. Something’s different. Ascension maybe. Or Cas still has training wheels on me, which is more than possible. He doesn’t want me to get overwhelmed.”

 

Good for Cas. He knew he could trust him to look after Dean. “You’re doing well. I’m glad to see it. Just … watch the god slaying for now.”

 

“No promises.”

 

Sam smiled, and wondered how weird it was going to be on the day he gave the Bunker to Charlie completely, and walked away. It was a thrilling and daunting idea at the same time. No more of this. He could be a regular person ... Or could he? He still wasn’t sure. But he had been for brief spurts in his life, so maybe it was like riding a bike. He just needed to do it to remember how it went.

 

As if picking up on his general air of melancholy. Dean said, “Whenever you need me, just summon me or call Cas. It takes more to get rid of me than becoming Death.”

 

“Don’t I know it. Take care of the universe, Dean.”

 

“I’m tryin’. Take care of yourself.”

 

Sam really didn’t think Dean would go in for the hug, but surprisingly, he did, and Sam stood and hugged his brother goodbye. It felt permanent, but he knew it wasn’t. It was just bye for now. Life had finally pulled them apart, and sent them off in different directions. He never would have bet he would be the last surviving Winchester, not in a million years.

 

Dean let him go with a final manly slap on the back, and turned to walk down the nearest aisle. Sam watched until he faded into heavy shadows, almost like he was born to them. At least he was a part of them now.

 

And then Sam woke up, ready to live again.

 

**

 

The End (no, really this time)


End file.
